ALLA  BREVE 

FROM    BACH    TO  'DEBUSSY 

By 

Carl  Engel 


GIFT   OF 
Sir   Henry  Heyman 


ALLA    BREVE 


ALLA  BREVE 

FROM    BACH    TO    DEBUSSY 

By 

Carl  Engel 


d> 


G.  SCHIRMER,  Inc.,  N.  Y. 


Copyright,  1921,  by  G.  Schirmer,  Inc. 
30365 


*<■  I 


Printed  in  the  U.  S.  A. 


^ 


To 
CARLETON  NOYES 


552514 


My  dear  Noyes, 

Afflicted  as  you  are  with  the  delightful  vices 
of  a  bouquineur,  you  cannot  be  a  stranger  to 
the  kind  of  irreproachable  effusion  for  which  the 
writer  feels  the  need  of  apologizing  in  a  humble 
preface — that  no  one  wants  to  read.  You  also 
know  the  book  in  which  the  only  thing  worth  read- 
ing is  a  charming  or  brilliant  preface — written 
by  some  one  other  than  the  author.  I  would  have 
asked  you  to  insure  at  least  the  merit  of  this  latter 
class  to  these  few  pages,  had  you  not  carried  hu- 
man kindness  far  enough  in  giving  them  the 
benefit  of  your  sagacious  criticism,  in  sharing 
the  treacherous  task  of  reading  them  when  in 
proof,  and  lastly,  by  helping  them  to  an  honest 
label  plainly  suggestive  of  their  literal  and  literary 
stint.  It  is  a  bootless  undertaking  to  sum  up 
the  work  of  a  Bach  or  the  life  of  a  Wagner  in  a 
half  hundred  sentences,  fashioned  after  the  pruned 
and  formal  manner  of  the  First  Grade  Reader. 

You    are  familiar   with    the    origin    of  these 

"lifelets":     how    a   sanguine   publisher,    looking 

for  biographical  notes  to   be  included  in  twelve 

piano    albums,    entitled   "Master    Series  for   the 

Young,"  turned  to  me  with  an  encouraging  "and- 


it-might-as-well-be-you."  So  it  was,  indeed. 
But  now,  after  adding  eight  more  to  the  original 
twelve,  and  uniting  them  within  one  cover,  I 
wonder  if  the  finished  -product  is  of  a  sort  that 
could  appeal  to  the  ''''Trapper  an1  Injun"  stage  of 
Youth  for  zvhich  the  publisher  solicitously  had 
intended  it.  Even  though  it  be  no  book  in  usum 
Delphinum  of  the  nation,  I  hope  you  will  feel 
that  the  not-too-young  and  the  not-too-old  lovers 
of  music,  who  are  sometimes  "too  busy  to  read," 
may  find  in  these  sketches — seen  through  the 
wrong  end  of  the  opera-glass— a  diminutive  but 
fairly  vivid  outline  of  their  particular  love,  or 
loves,  and  gain,  incidentally,  a  glimpse  of  the  pro- 
gress which  music  has  made  within  the  last  three 
centuries. 

It  is  not  an  irksome  sense  of  duty  that  prompts 
me  thus  to  place  your  name  at  the  head  of  this 
volume.  I  should  deprive  myself  of  a  great 
pleasure  and  satisfaction,  were  I  to  dismiss 
these  sheets  without  a  greeting  addressed  to  you, 
in  token  of  friendship  and  appreciation. 

Yours  cordially, 
C.  E. 

Marblehead,  Massachusetts 
August,   IQ2I 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Introduction 

xi 

I 

Bach 

1685-1750 

3 

II 

Handel 

1685-1759 

23 

III 

Gluck 

1714-1787 

35 

IV 

Haydn 

1732-1809 

55 

V 

Mozart 

1756-1791 

65 

VI 

Beethoven 

1770-1827 

77 

VII 

Weber 

1786-1826 

91 

VIII 

Schubert 

1797-1828 

103 

IX 

Berlioz 

1803-1869 

115 

X 

Mendelssohn 

1809-1847 

129 

XI 

Chopin 

1810-1849 

139 

XII 

Schumann 

1810-1856 

153 

XIII 

Liszt 

1811-1886 

165 

XIV 

Wagner 

1813-1883 

179 

XV 

Verdi 

1813-1901 

199 

XVI 

Franck 

1822-1890 

215 

XVII 

Brahms 

1833-1897 

229 

XVIII 

TSCHAIKOWSKY 

1840-1893 

243 

XIX 

Grieg 

1843-1907 

255 

XX 

Debussy 

1862-1918 

267 

Conclusion 

283 

INTRODUCTION 

Many  have  been  the  attempts  to  give  a 
definition  of  music.  That  none  of  them  has 
exhausted  all  that  enters  into  the  substance 
of  an  orchestral  symphony  and  a  camel 
driver's  chant,  sufficiently  proves  the  com- 
plexity of  the  matter.  To  call  music  "the 
sounding  art  of  numbers,"  is  perhaps  to 
point  toward  its  severest  beauty.  It  also 
links  the  apparent  whims  of  changing  moods 
and  studied  fashions  to  something  elemen- 
tary, eternal.  There  are  mathematical  prob- 
lems which  admit  of  solutions  that  possess 
the  elegance  and  conclusiveness  of  a  waltz 
by  Chopin.  There  are  musical  compositions 
which  have  about  as  much  charm  as  an  al- 
gebraic progression  ad  infinitum.  But  herein 
lies  one  of  the  difficulties  which  we  encount- 
er when  dealing  with  music,  that  there  are 
people — and  not  a  few  of  them — to  whom  an 
algebraic  progression  gives  a  thrill.  And 
that  is,   after  all,  their  privilege   and   very 

[xi] 


xii  Introduction 


private  concern.  Others  are  thrilled  only 
when  their  heart  is  touched. 

Differences  in  mentality  and  taste  ac- 
count for  the  many  and  contrasting  types  of 
"music-lovers,"  and  for  what  each  of  them 
considers  to  be  "music."  For  while  it  can  be 
raised  to  the  lofty  level  of  an  art,  it  suffers 
the  common  lot  of  all  things  handled  by  man- 
kind, that  it  may  be  degraded  to  standards 
inconceivably  low.  The  important  and  dis- 
concerting fact  is,  that  all  along  this  gradual 
descent  the  mission  of  music  remains  identi- 
cal: it  ministers  to  the  same  wants;  it  springs 
from,  and  appeals  to,  the  same  instincts  and 
emotions;  it  always  appeases  the  craving 
for  a  satisfaction  which  is  differentiated  only 
by  degrees  of  refinement.  This  refinement, 
of  course,  is  based  primarily  on  the  general 
culture  of  the  individual,  but  more  partic- 
ularly on  the  capacity  of  hearing,  or  the 
development  of  the  human  ear. 

Musical  history  is,  in  reality,  nothing 
but  an  account  of  the  evolution  of  hearing. 


Introduction  xiii 


Most  of  the  musical  controversies  are  quarrels 
between  "retarded  hearing"  and  "advanced 
hearing."  They  often  interfere  with  the 
settling — comparatively  easy — of  the  ques- 
tion as  to  whether  a  piece  of  music  is  intrin- 
sically good  or  bad,  or,  more  correctly, 
whether  it  is  well  or  badly  made.  Time  is 
patient,  and  almost  invariably  it  is  just. 

Music,  as  we  understand  it,  does  not 
exist  in  nature.  The  scales,  which  so  far 
have  been  the  basis  of  every  tonal  system, 
in  the  Orient  and  Occident,  were  artificial 
products,  arrived  at  by  speculation  or  chance, 
and  sanctioned  by  habit.  Our  present  sys- 
tem may  be  overthrown  at  any  moment. 
The  paradox  of  music  is  that  the  ear  must 
accustom  itself  to  a  sound  in  order  to  derive 
an  aesthetic  pleasure  from  it,  and  that  as 
soon  as  this  has  taken  place,  the  novelty  and, 
with  it,  the  pleasure  begin  to  wane.  Other 
sounds,  of  new  potency,  must  have  birth. 
Helmholtz,  at  the  end  of  his  researches,  had 
to  acknowledge:    "The  system  of  scales  and 


xiv  Introduction 


modes,  and  all  the  network  of  harmony 
founded  thereon,  do  not  seem  to  rest  on  any 
immutable  laws  of  nature.  They  are  due  to 
aesthetic  principles  which  are  constantly  sub- 
ject to  change,  according  to  the  progressive 
development  of  knowledge  and  taste."  This 
is  not  quite  true,  however. 

It  is  not  so  much  a  constant  progress  of 
"taste,"  for  that  is  a  fitful  factor  in  the 
growth  of  nations  or  individuals.  It  is 
rather  a  steady  forward  reach  of  hearing, 
which,  incidentally,  brings  with  it  a  deeper 
"knowledge."  Taste  is  something  that 
Mozart  possessed  not  less  than  Debussy. 
Nor  is  it  always  the  most  "knowing"  master 
who  is  the  most  "tasteful."  But  between 
Mozart  and  Debussy  the  human  ear  learned 
to  hear  many  new  things.  It  gained  a  finer 
perception  of,  and  greater  subconscious 
familiarity  with,  the  inherent  qualities  of 
musical  tone  and  its  several  overtones.  This 
development  clearly  necessitated  the  recur- 
ring demand  for   fresher  and   keener  tonal 


Introduction  xv 


stimuli,  with  which  to  give  our  senses — when 
they  become  dulled  to  accustomed  impres- 
sions— the  relatively  same  degree  of  satis- 
faction for  which  we  are  always  craving. 
Probably  the  ladies  who  shed  a  polite  tear 
{una  lagrimettd)  at  hearing  for  the  first  time 
the  tremolo  of  the  strings,  employed  by 
Monteverdi,  were  not  less  markedly  stirred 
by  their  experience,  than  we  are  in  listening  to 
some  of  the  musical  manifestations  of  our  day. 
As  our  knowledge  increases,  it  seems  to 
reveal  more  and  more  that,  if  music  does  not 
exist  in  nature  and  is  not  based  on  "immut- 
able laws  of  nature,"  there  is  in  tone  itself 
a  peculiarly  communicative  force.  And  one 
wonders,  is  not  this  because  in  tone  there 
are  present,  and  ever  united,  the  fundamental 
principles  of  motion,  matter  and  law?  Thus 
tone  would  be  a  symbol  of  some  trinity, 
dimly  perceived,  variously  interpreted,  but 
always  active  in  this  world.  For  tone  is 
"matter  moving  according  to  certain  rules." 
We    are    following    these    rules    to    farther 


xvi  Introduction 


regions,  just  as  our  widening  comprehension 
of  the  natural  laws  is  winning  us  a  slightly 
clearer  vision  of  the  universe.  As  there 
are  eyes  which  will  not  see  the  light,  so 
there  are  always  ears  which  prejudice  closes 
to  innovations.  A  great  deal  of  "older" 
music  still  exerts  a  certain  charm  by  reason 
of  its  quaintness  and  the  inclination  of  some 
people  to  regret  the  past.  There  are  works 
of  the  earlier  masters  that  are  still  pleasant  to 
hear,  and  are  kept  young,  not  by  historical 
interest,  but  by  their  ever-green,  surpassing 
beauty.  And  yet  what  is  the  age  of  Bach's 
B  minor  Mass  compared  with  that  of  the 
Parthenon,  the  age  of  Palestrina's  Madrigals 
compared  with  the  statuettes  of  Tanagra? 
Future  generations  will  undoubtedly  have 
an  easier  task — thanks  to  mechanical  sound 
reproduction — in  forming  an  accurate  opinion 
of  our  present  music,  than  we  are  facing  in 
our  effort  to  understand  the  music  of  the 
ancients.  If  it  was  simple,  it  was  so  only  in 
contrast  with  our  own,  just  as  the  "futur- 


Introduction  xvii 


ists"  will  be  deemed  harmless  in  a  century 
or  two.  However  modest  the  instrumental 
resources  of  Egypt  or  Greece  may  have  been, 
the  human  voice,  probably,  was  much  the 
same  at  all  times,  or  at  least  ever  since  man 
walked  on  his  hind  legs  alone.  The  vocal 
organ,  possessing  infinite  flexibility  and  the 
power  of  minutest  differentiation,  did,  for  that 
very  reason,  always  offer  the  ear  a  depend- 
able medium  by  which  to  register  the  most 
sensitive  shades  of  tonal  variation.  But  such 
registration  became  subject  to  control  by 
the  intellect.  When  science  discovered  the 
nature  of  tone  and  found  the  mathematical 
core  of  music,  it  forgot  the  sweet  fruit  that 
surrounds  it.  Science  tried  to  prescribe  for 
the  ear  such  intervals  as  were  mathematically 
the  most  correct  and  purest.  The  ear  re- 
volted, the  ear  seemed  to  know  better,  and 
to  prefer  the  juicy  fruit  to  the  kernel.  These 
quarrels  between  theorists  and  composers 
go  back  to  the  first  records  of  musical  history. 
We  know  what  the  disputed  subjects  were, 


xviii  Introduction 


but  we  have  no  conception  in  what,  for  ex- 
ample, the  music  of  Aristoxenos  differed 
from  that  of  Pythagoras,  or  how  much  nearer 
Didymus  came  to  inventing  anything  like 
a  "tune"  than  did  the  learned  Ptolemy.  We 
have  no  music  that  dates  back  to  Homer's 
"Iliad"  or  to  the  Pyramids.  The  Gregorian 
chant  of  the  Catholic  Church  and  the  oriental 
melismas  of  the  Synagogue,  which  are  the 
oldest  "living"  music,  are  truly  impressive 
only  in  their  proper  place.  We  can  admire 
a  Grecian  torso.  The  fragment  of  an  Egyp- 
tian column  may  set  us  dreaming.  In  music, 
fragments  and  torsos  are  unprofitable. 
Words,  singly  and  dependent  alone  on  their 
evocative  strength,  amount  to  little  until 
they  are  strung  together  into  sentences  of 
articulate  speech.  They,  too,  must  form  a 
complete  whole  to  convey  a  message. 

Tones  are  the  words  of  music.  But  this 
youngest  of  arts  is  still  fashioning  its  speech 
and  is  constantly  enlarging  its  vocabulary. 
This  extension  is  the  mooted  question  which 


Introduction  xix 


presents  itself  in  every  chapter  of  musical 
history,  to  be  settled  always  by  common  con- 
sent, much  as  "good  usage"  has  sanctioned 
the  valid  transformations  of  a  language. 
Only  the  progress  of  music,  having  begun 
much  later,  seems  to  have  been  the  more 
rapid. 

Broadly  speaking,  the  advance  of  music  is 
determined  by  our  changing  conceptions  of 
concord  and  discord,  which,  in  turn,  depend 
upon  the  ability  of  the  ear  to  assimilate  more 
and  more  overtones  as  consonant  parts  of  one 
sound.  Discord  forms  a  legitimate  means 
to  artistic  ends,  without  which  music  would 
become  stale.  But  because  every  discord 
has  a  tendency  to  become  a  concord,  when 
the  ear  has  grown  to  know  it  too  familiarly, 
bolder  and  subtler  sounds  must  be  found 
to  enrich  harmony  and  amplify  melody  with 
new  discords. 

Dr.  Charles  Burney,  shrewd  and  industri- 
ous musicographer,  was  singularly  far-sighted 
when  in  the   course  of  his  travels  through 


xx  Introduction 


Italy  he  wrote:  "No  one  will,  I  believe,  at 
present  [1770!!],  deny  the  necessity  of  dis- 
cord in  the  composition  of  music  in  parts; 
it  seems  to  be  as  much  the  essence  of  music, 
as  shade  is  of  painting;  not  only  as  it  im- 
proves and  meliorates  concord  by  opposition 
and  comparison,  but,  still  further,  as  it  be- 
comes a  necessary  stimulus  to  the  attention, 
which  would  languish  over  a  succession  of 
pure  concords.  It  occasions  a  momentary 
distress  to  the  ear,  which  remains  unsatisfied, 
and  even  uneasy,  till  it  hears  something 
better;  for  no  musical  phrase  can  end  upon 
a  discord  [?!];  the  ear  must  be  satisfied  at 
last.  Now,  as  discord  is  allowable,  and  even 
necessarily  opposed  to  concord,  why  may  not 
noise,  or  a  seeming  jargon,  be  opposed  to 
fixed  sounds  and  harmonical  proportion? 
Some  of  the  discords  in  modern  [1770!!]  mu- 
sic, unknown  till  this  century,  are  what  the 
ear  can  but  just  bear,  but  have  a  very  good 
effect  as  to  contrast.  The  severe  laws  of 
preparing  and  resolving  discord,  may  be  too 


Introduction  xxi 


much  adhered  to  for  great  effects ;  I  am  con- 
vinced, that  provided  the  ear  be  at  length 
made  amends,  there  are  few  dissonances  too 
strong  for  it." 

That  is  an  astoundingly  lucid  and  correct 
statement,  considering  the  time  when  it  was 
written.  But  what  would  the  learned  Doctor 
have  said  to  Schonberg,  or  even  Ravel;  what 
to  the  bruiteurs,  the  "noise-makers"  of  Milan? 
Sometimes  it  is  hard  to  live  up  to  our  own 
theories.  Is  noise  ever  going  to  be  really  an 
integral  part  of  a  musical  art-work?  Where 
does  the  future  of  music  lie?  In  a  new  divi- 
sion of  the  octave  into  smaller  steps  than 
"half-tones"?  Will  the  octave  itself  become 
an  unbearably  trite  and  offensive  interval? 
It  is  the  simplest,  regarded  as  the  ratio  of 
2  :  1  between  two  sounds;  it  is  the  most 
sensitively  dangerous,  regarded  from  a 
contrapuntal  angle.  Perhaps  the  next 
"liberation"  of  sound  will  not  come  from  a 
composer's  brain  until  the  scientist,  in  his 
laboratory,  has  removed  a  few  more  shackles 


xxii  Introduction 


from  the  enthralled  goddess.  A  new  instru- 
ment, or  a  new  group  of  instruments  (some- 
how connected  with  electricity),  will  require 
of  the  composer  to  unlearn  his  trade,  to  fit 
himself  with  a  new  technique  and  find  a  novel 
set  of  "rules."  Music  will  no  longer  borrow 
from  architecture,  painting  and  poetry 
characteristics  which  are  in  reality  foreign 
to  the  art  of  sounds.  Tonal  sprays  may 
pour  from  a  hose;  a  sounding  stream,  issuing 
from  a  tap  in  the  wall,  may  surge  against 
our  ears  and  drown  our  senses  in  a  bath  of 
ecstasy.  Rhythm  will  be  not  only  physically 
reactive,  it  will  have  assumed  an  emotional 
import.  Having  become  more  independent 
of  painting  and  poetry,  music  in  combination 
with  colors  or  words  will  be  a  thing  of  height- 
ened eloquence  and  deeper  meaning. 


I 
BACH 


Begin  the  song,  and  strike  the  living  lyre: 
Lo,  how  the  years  to  come,  a  numerous  and  well- 
fitted  quire, 
All  hand  in  hand  do  decently  advance, 
And  to  my  song  with  smooth  and  equal   measure 

dance; 
While  the  dance  lasts,  how  long  soe'er  it  be, 
My  music's  voice  shall  bear  it  company. 

— Cowley 


JOHANN  SEBASTIAN  BACH 

It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  all  ancient 
music  was  more  or  less  primitive,  and  there- 
fore cannot  be  of  interest  to  us.  The  musi- 
cal speculations  of  the  Greeks  retained  vital 
concern  as  late  as  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
centuries,  when  theorists  tried  to  establish 
a  division  of  the  octave  into  intervals  that 
corresponded  to  those  of  the  Hellenic  phi- 
losophers. Rousseau  may  be  right  in  saying: 
"C'est  perdre  son  temps,  et  abuser  de  celui 
du  lecteur,  que  le  promener  par  toutes  ces 
divisions";  but  it  is  well  and  important  to 
remember  that,  as  Columbus  set  out  to  find 
the  Western  passage  to  India  and  discovered 
America  instead,  so  did  these  medieval 
scientists,  seeking  for  the  modes  of  antiquity, 
really  furnish  the  impetus  that  led  to  our 
present  "tempered"  diatonic  scale,  and  to 
the  genera  of  major  and  minor. 

[3] 


4 Alia  Breve 

With  the  practical  demonstration  of 
"tempered"  intervals  (that  is,  with  the 
division  of  the  octave  into  twelve  approxi- 
mately even  half-tones)  the  foundation  was 
laid  for  our  modern  "enharmonic"  system, 
in  which  flats  and  sharps  sound  identical  and 
are  interchangeable.  The  era  of  true  chro- 
maticism was  inaugurated  and  it  became 
possible  to  construct  satisfactory  keyboard 
instruments,  which  were  no  longer  bound 
to  the  painfully  uncompromising  modes 
of  the  Greeks  and  the  later  Church,  but 
afforded  an  easy  and  instantaneous  transit 
through  the  circle  of  the  twelve  tonalities, 
major  and  minor,  giving  thereby  into  the 
hands  of  the  composer  the  master-key  of 
modulation,  which  opened  successive  doors 
to  Palestrina,  to  Monteverdi  and  to  Bach. 

There  are  many  mansions  in  the  house 
of  music,  and  not  a  few  of  them  still  waiting 
to  be  unlocked. 

With  difficulty  can  we  realize  what 
patient  and  circuitous  effort  had  to  precede 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach 


the  final  adoption  of  the  key  of  C  major,  of 
which  the  great  theorist  Zarlino  (1517-1590) 
spoke  as  being  used  only  by  the  vulgar  mu- 
sicians of  the  street  who  accompanied  rustic 
dances  in  it,  and  which  he  called  il  modo 
lascivo,  or  the  wanton  key!  The  most  wanton 
thing  about  it,  perhaps,  was  that  persistently 
sharpened  "leading-note,"  the  seventh  degree 
of  the  scale,  which  clashed  so  openly  with 
the  fourth  degree  that  when  the  two  were 
brought  together  in  the  notorious  "tritone" 
(augmented  fourth  or  diminished  fifth)  they 
had  to  resolve  by  mutual  repulsion  into  a 
dulcet  sixth,  or  fall  into  the  arms  of  an 
harmonious  third.  It  became  more  and 
more  evident  that  tone  combinations  have 
"tendencies,"  and  that  latent  in  every  chord 
there  is  a  desire  to  move,  by  contraction  or 
expansion,  into  tension  or  release;  that  every 
chord  is  a  link  in  a  chain  of  similitudes  and 
contrasts.  The  "leading-note,"  la  note  sen- 
sible, in  company  with  the  dominant  and  its 
seventh,  was  first  to  make  this  unequivocally 


6  Alia  Breve 

clear.  The  sense  of  tonality,  the  sense  of 
"inevitableness"  in  tonal  progressions,  took 
root  in  the  ear;  and  the  theorists  came 
promptly  straggling  after  with  their  rules 
and  vetoes,  rearing  that  formidable  structure 
known  as  the  ''Laws  of  Harmony,"  a  struc- 
ture ever  subject  to  repair  and  alteration! 

The  orthodox  ecclesiastical  composers, 
the  Okeghems  and  Josquins,  with  their  con- 
trapuntal skill  and  foibles,  in  spite  of  all  their 
greatness,  had  to  pass  on  before  the  "new" 
spirit;  their  churchly  modes  lost  all  identity 
in  the  fusion  of  "temperament";  the  sway  of 
their  grand  vocal  music  was  usurped  by  a 
little  instrument,  a  box  of  wire  strings,  which, 
in  time,  begot  that  tribe  of  clavichords, 
clavicembalos,  harpsichords,  virginals,  spin- 
ets, clavecins,  pianofortes,  Hammerklaviere, 
concert-grands,  and — player-pianos!  Saint- 
Saens,  adroit  master  and  independent 
thinker,  aptly  characterizes  these  con- 
sequences when  he  writes:  "Who,  in  our 
epoch,  has  not  undergone  the  powerful  in- 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach 


fluencc  of  the  piano?  That  influence  began 
even  before  the  piano  itself,  with  the  'Well- 
tempered  Clavichord'  of  Bach.  With  the 
day  that  the  'temperament'  in  tuning  had 
brought  about  synonimousness  of  flats  and 
sharps,  and  allowed  the  free  use  of  all  tonali- 
ties, the  spirit  of  the  keyboard  entered  the 
world;  that  spirit  has  become  a  devastating 
tyrant  of  music  by  propagating  the  heretical 
enharmonic  system.  Practically  all  modern 
music  has  sprung  from  that  heresy:  it  has 
been  too  fecund  to  deplore  it;  but  a  heresy 
it  remains,  nevertheless,  destined  to  dis- 
appear on  a  probably  distant  and  fatal  day, 
as  a  result  of  the  same  evolution  which  gave 
it  birth." 

It  is  certain  that  the  influence  of  Bach, 
and  especially  of  his  cyclopedic  "Well- 
tempered  Clavichord,"  on  the  music  of  the 
last  two  centuries,  was  predominant.  Bach 
is  the  turning-point,  the  hinge  of  old  and 
new.     He   is    as    much    the    culmination   of 


8 Alia  Breve 

medieval  groping  as  he  is  the  foundation  of 
all  modern  unfolding  in  music. 

Bach  does  not  stand  isolated,  unconnected 
with  the  past,  much  though  his  all-believers 
like  to  think  so,  even  as  "true-believers"  are 
willing  to  credit  the  coffin  of  Mohammet,  at 
Medina,  with  floating  unsupported  'twixt 
heaven  and  earth.  Bach  had,  of  course, 
forerunners  from  whom  he  learned  and 
borrowed;  how  else  could  he  and  Handel 
have  been  contemporaries?  They  drank 
from  the  same  source,  but  the  draught 
aifected  each  differently.  Nor  need  one 
seek  this  source  in  so  remote  a  region  as  the 
sixteenth  century,  with  its  Arcadelt  and 
Morales,  Orlando  and  Palestrina,  masters 
of  polyphonic  vocal  composition,  carrying 
their  art  to  extremes  of  sophistication,  until 
it  became  music  for  the  eye  rather  than  the 
ear,  music  that  was  stilted  and  grown  life- 
less. 

The  seventeenth  century,  not  marked  by 
any  overtowering  musical  genius,  is  the  true 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach 


period  of  preparation,  counting  ten  prophets 
to  every  messiah  of  the  following  saeculum. 
There  may  be  room  for  comparison  between 
that  era  and  our  own  post-Debussyan  days. 
The  year  1600  is  a  convenient  date  on  which 
to  fasten  the  name  of  Claudio  Monteverdi, 
whose  innovations,  whose  "New  Discords,  in 
Five  Parts,"  cannot  easily  be  overestimated. 
We  are  again  living  in  an  age  when  the 
need  for  "new  discords"  seems  paramount. 
Three  hundred  years  hence,  will  a  writer  of 
"Musical  Snap-shots"  be  able  to  dispose  of 
Richard  Wagner  in  one  sentence  ?  If  Monte- 
verdi, furtherer  of  opera,  must  thus  sum- 
marily be  dealt  with,  Carissimi,  elaborator 
of  cantata  and  oratorio,  deserves  at  least 
a  mention;  great  men,  both  of  them, 
self-made  and  "radical,"  first  to  prove 
definitely  the  expressive  possibilities  of  the 
recitativo.  Music  was  beginning  to  assume 
dramatic  values.  Among  Carissimi's  pupils 
the  most  important  was  Alessandro  Scar- 
latti,   fluent    writer,    himself    an    excellent 


10 Alia  Breve 

teacher,  father  of  Domenico  Scarlatti,  to 
whom  belongs  the  distinction  of  having 
evolved  the  harpsichord  style  which  became 
a  model  for  all  future  piano  music. 

The  type  of  "musica  da  camera"  inti- 
mate, learned  and  polished,  was  eminently 
fitted  as  a  field  for  experimentation.  The 
ricercari  and  fantasie  were  expanded  and 
given  greater  formal  unity;  they  became 
sonatas  and  concertos.  Diversity  was 
gained,  in  instrumental  music,  by  appropri- 
ating and  ennobling  popular  dance  move- 
ments. As  to  Arcangelo  Corelli,  one  is 
tempted  to  see  in  him  even  more  than  a 
precursor.  Orchestra  technique  owed  much 
to  him.  If,  as  we  are  told,  he  insisted  on 
uniformity  in  bowing  with  his  players  of 
stringed  instruments,  it  was  probably  because 
he  was  the  first  to  see  the  need  of  an  even 
and  pliable  orchestral  body,  preparing  by 
his  training  the  later  exploits  of  the  famous 
Mannheim  Orchestra  under  Stamitz. 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach  11 

However  briefly  these  voices  crying  in 
the  wilderness  may  be  evoked,  that  of  the 
Englishman,  Henry  Purcell,  must  not  be 
forgotten.  "If  ever  it  could  with  truth  be 
said  of  a  composer  that  he  had  devance  son 
Steele,  Purcell  is  entitled  to  that  praise" — 
and  British  pride  said  not  too  much.  France, 
on  the  other  hand,  in  these  years  of  fermenta- 
tion, had  the  least  of  musical  yeast  to  offer, 
and  before  the  advent  of  Jean  Philippe 
Rameau,  animated  with  the  spirit  of  research, 
savant  as  much  as  fashioner  of  beautiful  and 
living  sounds — before  Rameau,  France  could 
boast  only  of  Jean  Baptiste  Lully,  Italian 
by  birth  and  character,  "creator  of  a  style 
of  music  which,  since  his  time,  instead  of 
advancing  towards  perfection,  as  is  imagined, 
has  perhaps  lost  more  than  it  has  gained." 
Lully's  talent  for  intrigue  was  not  matched 
by  sufficient  musical  originality  to  accom- 
plish what  he  set  out  to  do.  Across  the 
Rhine,  the  road  was  opened  by  Schiitz, 
brought  up   under  Italian   teachers   though 


12  Alia  Breve 

he  was,  a  Teuton  to  the  core,  and  worthy  to 
take  first  rank  as  pioneer  in  German  music. 
Keiser,  Pachelbel,  Buxtehude  and  the  erudite 
Kuhnau,  carried  on  his  work,  the  first  in 
opera,  the  others  in  organ  composition  and 
chamber  music  —  craftsmen  of  merit  all, 
commanding  figures   none  of  them. 

Here  entered  Bach. 

Musical  talent  had  distinguished  many 
of  his  ancestors,  and  among  his  eleven  sons 
were  several  noted  musicians,  who,  in  their 
lifetime,  attracted  even  greater  attention 
than  did  their  illustrious  parent.  But  they 
have  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh;  their  com- 
positions, with  few  exceptions,  have  been 
forgotten,  while  the  name  and  works  of  the 
great  Johann  Sebastian  are  still  alive  to-day 
and  bid  fair  to  outlive  the  music  of  to- 
morrow. 

With  Spring's  beginning,  on  March  21, 
1685,  Bach  came  into  the  world  and  brought 
to  it  a  newer,  richer  spring  of  music  than  it 
had  ever  known.     He  was  born  in  the  lovely 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach  13 

old  town  of  Eisenach,  nestled  among  the 
pine-  and  oak-covered  mountains  of  Thu- 
ringia,  with  the  famous  Wartburg  towering 
above  the  valleys,  that  ancient  castle  where 
Martin  Luther  translated  the  Bible  into 
the  language  of  the  people.  Bach,  a  mu- 
sical reformer,  was  brought  up  and  steeped 
in  the  very  air  of  Protestant  simplicity  and 
uprightness.  What  Luther  did  for  the 
Bible,  Bach  did  for  music,  in  making  it  speak 
a  language  that  goes  straight  to  the  heart  of 
all  people.  Many  of  his  loftiest  pages  were 
written  for  the  service  of  the  church. 

Bach  received  his  first  music  lessons 
from  his  father,  who  was  town-musician  at 
Eisenach.  Orphaned,  when  he  was  ten 
years  old,  he  came  to  live  and  pursue  his 
studies  with  an  older  brother.  But  he  was 
not  happy  there,  and  soon  went  to  Liine- 
burg,  a  small  town  in  Germany's  vast  region 
of  purple  heather,  darkgreen  moors  and 
orange  sunsets.  Here  he  was  accepted  as 
chorister  at   St.   Michael's,   was   taught  the 


14  Alia  Breve 

violin,  organ  and  clavichord,  and  was  fa- 
miliarized with  the  rules  and  rudiments  of 
composition.  He  made  frequent  pilgrim- 
ages to  other  towns,  tramping  the  high-roads 
alone  or  in  the  company  of  fellow-students, 
to  hear  other  musicians  perform.  Thus  he 
walked  all  the  way  to  Lubeck  to  meet  old 
Buxtehude.  The  example  of  renowned 
masters  stimulated  him  to  gain  ever  greater 
perfection  in  his  profession.  When  he  fin- 
ished his  studies,  he  went,  as  was  the  custom 
of  the  day,  into  the  employ  of  princes  or 
wealthy  parishes,  as  court  musician  or  church 
organist. 

After  a  short  stay  in  Weimar,  as  violinist 
of  the  ducal  orchestra,  he  obtained  a  position 
as  organist  of  the  New  Church  at  Arnstadt, 
in  Thuringia.  It  was  here  that,  in  1706,  the 
Consistory  formally  charged  him  with  hav- 
ing been  in  the  habit  of  making  surprising 
variationes  in  the  chorales,  and  intermixing 
divers  strange  sounds,  so  that  thereby  the 
congregation  were  confounded." 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach  15 

Having  been  called  to  the  more  lucrative 
post  of  organist  at  Miihlhausen,  in  June 
1707,  he  married  in  the  following  October 
his  cousin  Maria  Barbara  Bach,  who  died 
in  1720.  He  took  for  his  second  wife  Anna 
Magdalena  Wiilken,  a  gifted  musician. 

The  scenes  of  his  activities  shifted  rather 
frequently,  until  the  year  1723,  which  marks 
the  date  of  Bach's  most  important  appoint- 
ment, as  "Cantor"  (choir  director)  at  the 
Thomas  School  in  Leipzig,  and  as  organist 
at  the  church  of  the  same  name,  succeeding 
the  admired  and  many-sided  Johann  Kuh- 
nau.  He  remained  a  resident  of  this  city 
to  the  end  of  his  life,  and  it  was  here  that  his 
genius  reached  its  fullest  stature.  His  fame 
spread  throughout  the  land,  although  no 
amount  of  honors  could  change  his  simple, 
homely  ways.  In  1736  he  was  named  court 
composer  to  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  then  also 
King  of  Poland.  In  1747  he  accepted  an 
invitation  of  Frederick  the  Great,  King  of 
Prussia,  to  visit  Berlin,  where  his  second  son, 


16 Alia  Breve 

Karl  Philipp  Emanuel  Bach,  had  estab- 
lished himself  and  had  gained  an  enviable 
reputation. 

Bach  had  been  nearsighted  from  child- 
hood, a  failing  that  had  become  aggravated 
by  his  long  and  industrious  copying  of  older 
masterworks  and  of  his  own  compositions, 
which  was  necessary  in  the  days  when  the 
printing  of  music  was  a  rare  and  expensive 
luxury.  At  last,  in  1749,  an  unsuccessful 
operation  on  his  eyes  was  followed  by  total 
blindness.  His  general  health  declined. 
He  regained  his  sight  unexpectedly  on  July 
10,  1750,  but  was  stricken  with  apoplexy 
ten  days  later,  and  died  on  July  28. 

He  had  been  working  to  the  very  end, 
and  his  prolificness  is  as  remarkable  as  his 
originality.  About  one-third  of  the  music 
composed  by  him  is  said  to  have  been  lost. 
Even  so,  the  quantity  of  his  preserved  mu- 
sic is  enormous.  It  may  be  divided  into 
four  groups:  (1)  the  study  material  that  he 
wrote  for  the  members  of  his  family  and  his 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach 17 

many  pupils;  this  material  includes  the 
"Well-tempered  Clavichord";  (2)  the  Pre- 
ludes, Fugues,  Toccatas,  etc.,  for  organ 
which  remain  the  daily  mental  food  of 
every  good  organist;  (3)  the  Overtures, 
Suites,  etc.,  for  Orchestra,  the  Chamber- 
music  and  the  Concertos  and  Concert-pieces 
composed  for  artist  friends  and  princely 
patrons,  and  still  the  delight  of  concert- 
goers;  and  (4)  the  works  written  for,  or  in- 
spired by,  the  church.  These  last  are  Bach's 
finest  achievements.  Built  on  the  founda- 
tion of  supreme  craftsmanship,  they  are 
reared  with  the  devotional  fervor  derived 
from  unbounded  religious  faith.  Bach's  set- 
tings of  the  Lord's  Passion  according  to  St. 
Matthew  and  St.  John,  and  his  B  minor 
Mass,  belong  to  the  greatest  music  of  all 
times. 

It  is  for  the  great  things  we  do,  that  we 
are  remembered,  but  for  the  little  things,  that 
we  are  loved.  Bach's  work  is  full  of  "little 
things,"  gem-like,  perfect  in  cut  and  fire.    We 


18  Alia  Breve 

are  so  apt  to  see  in  him  only  the  abstract 
of  all  musical  science,  weigh  his  powers  as  a 
contrapuntist,  admire  his  architectural  mas- 
tery on  a  gigantic  scale.  The  father  of 
twenty  children  was  a  family-man,  going 
about  his  business  undisturbed  by  whining 
babies,  writing  little  tunes  for  his  wife,  Anna 
Magdalena,  and  for  his  boys  when  they  grew 
up.  The  austere  and  patriarchal  head  of  the 
house  was  also  of  a  sensuous  and  loving 
nature,  simple  and  passionate.  It  is  not 
only  the  supreme  agony  of  Christ  that  moves 
his  big  heart  to  sublime  utterance;  many  a 
strain  tucked  away  in  this  or  that  cantata, 
suite  or  concerto,  betrays  the  vibrant  soul 
that  depends  as  much  on  the  joys  of  this 
world  as  it  hopes  in  those  of  the  next. 
Circumspect  and  versatile,  Bach  was  ob- 
servant of  all  that  went  on,  musically,  around 
him.  His  industry,  his  fixedness  of  pur- 
pose, have  not  been  surpassed.  The  "mo- 
dernity" of  harmonic  progression  he  often 
indulged  in,  remains  almost  as  baffling  to  us 


Johann  Sebastian  Bach  19 

as  it  was  to  the  Consistory  of  Arnstadt. 
Under  his  fingers,  graceful  old  dance-tunes 
sparkled  with  incisive  rhythm.  He  could  be 
humorous,  ultimate  test  of  higher  wisdom. 
The  glory  of  God,  the  inexorable  majesty 
of  Death,  have  never  been  made  more 
plausible  to  the  mind  of  man,  than  in  some 
eight  or  sixteen  measures  of  a  Bach  chorale. 
When  concerned  with  the  great  issues  of 
human  destiny,  his  music  breathes  immortal 
life  and  lifts  us  from  out  the  narrowing 
conceptions  of  space  and  time. 


II 
HANDEL 


His  works  form,  as  it  were,  a  monument,  solitary 
and  colossal,  raised  at  the  end  of  some  blind 
avenue  from  which  the  true  path  of  advance  has 
branched,  and  which,  stately  and  splendid  though 
it  be,  is  not  the  vestibule  through  which  art  has 
passed  to  the  discovery  and  exploration  of  new 
forms  of  beauty. 

— Edinburgh  Review:  January,  1887 


II 

GEORGE  FREDERIC  HANDEL 

There  exists  a  well-known  painting  which 
pictures  the  boy  Handel,  in  his  night-shirt, 
seated  before  the  old  harpsichord  in  the 
dead  of  night,  and  surprised  by  the  astonished 
family,  which  is  headed  by  the  father,  lantern 
in  hand,  all  pressing  into  the  room  and  be- 
wildered at  seeing  the  youngster's  calm  dis- 
regard for  paternal  injunctions.  History 
does  not  tell  whether  the  immediate  con- 
sequences of  the  discovery  were  sensibly 
painful  for  little  George;  but  if  they  were, 
they  did  not  deter  him  from  pursuing,  all 
his  life,  a  vocation  to  which  his  singular 
genius  called  him  in  spite  of  his  father's  wish 
that  he  should  be  a  lawyer.  And  the  little 
player  in  a  nightie  grew  up  to  be  a  great 
master  in  a  fine  periwig,  clothed  in  silk  and 
velvet,    decked    with   jewels,    the   friend    of 

[23] 


24  Alia  Breve 

kings  and  dukes,  basking  in  the  glorious  rays 
of  popular  and  universal  veneration. 

Handel  was  born  at  Halle,  in  Saxony, 
on  February  23  of  the  year  1685,  or  a  little 
less  than  a  month  before  the  birth-date  of 
J.  S.  Bach,  whom  he  survived  by  nine  years, 
dying  at  London  on  April  14,  1759.  But 
the  lives  of  these  two  great  contemporaries 
have  little  in  common,  save  that  both  lost 
their  eyesight  with  advancing  age.  Bach 
married  twice,  Handel  not  at  all.  Bach 
never  left  the  shadow  of  the  church;  Handel 
was  always  drawn  to  the  footlights  of  the 
stage.  Bach  is  the  luminous  daybreak, 
Handel  the  towering  sunset  cloud.  Simul- 
taneous,   they     are     well     nigh     antipodal. 

Providence  played  an  important  role  in 
the  life  of  Handel.  A  chance  visit  with 
his  father,  a  bleeder  and  surgeon,  to  the 
court  of  a  German  princeling  who  expressed 
his  delight  when  he  happened  to  hear  the 
boy  play,  was  the  cause  of  his  receiving  music 
lessons.     He  made  such  rapid  strides  that, 


George  Frederic  Handel  25 

ten  years  old,  he  was  a  performer  of  no  mean 
ability  and  had  written  several  pieces.  The 
father,  now  proud  of  his  prodigy,  took  him  in 
1696  to  Berlin,  where  young  Handel  earned 
the  admiration  of  all  the  musicians,  and  where 
for  the  first  time  he  heard  an  opera,  a  style  of 
musical  composition  to  which  he  was  to 
devote  a  great  deal  of  his  time,  and  a  form  of 
entertainment  hi  the  providing  of  which  he 
was  to  make,  and  subsequently  lose,  much 
money.  After  the  father's  death,  in  1697, 
Handel,  prompted  by  filial  devotion,  finished 
his  school  education,  and  in  1702,  as  law  stu- 
dent, he  entered  the  newly  inaugurated  Uni- 
versity of  Halle;  he  also  filled  a  position  of 
church-organist,  as  a  means  of  livelihood. 
This  entailed  the  writing  of  much  music  for 
the  services,  and  it  is  estimated  that  "in 
twelve  or  fourteen  months  Handel  composed 
several  hundred  cantatas!"  Little  remains 
of  these  cantatas,  at  least  in  their  original 
form,  although  it  may  be  safe  to  assume  that 
the    rather    economic    composer    utilized    a 


26  Alia  Breve 

great  deal  of  these  earlier  inspirations  in 
works  of  his  later  period,  a  method  he  ad- 
hered to  all  his  life,  and  not  uncommon 
with  other  composers  of  his  time. 

But  the  lure  of  the  stage  was  too  strong. 
In  1703  he  went  to  Hamburg,  where  resided 
the  best  German  opera  troupe  of  the  day, 
directed  by  the  eminent  and  prolific  Rein- 
hard  Keiser.  Handel  entered  the  theatre 
orchestra  as  a  violinist,  later  advancing  to 
the  post  of  clavecinist,  and  finally  graduating 
conductor.  All  the  while  he  busied  himself 
with  the  writing  of  operas,  some  of  which  were 
successfully  produced.  His  temperamental 
ways  once  led  him  to  quarrel  at  the  theatre 
with  his  associate  Mattheson,  a  talented 
composer  and  able  historian,  and  after  the 
then  current  fashion  they  proceeded  to  settle 
their  differences  with  the  aid  of  swords.  If 
Providence  had  not  placed  a  large  brass 
button  between  the  point  of  Mattheson's 
weapon    and   Handel's    heart,    the   story   of 


George  Frederic  Handel  27 

his  life  would  have  ended  here.  The  an- 
tagonists are  said  to  have  made  up  forthwith. 
Opera  writing  was  Handel's  avowed 
ambition,  and  it  could  be  developed  only  in 
the  land  where  opera  had  been  invented  a 
mere  hundred  years  earlier  and  was  then 
especially  flourishing;  that  land  was  Italy. 
Handel  crossed  the  Alps  in  1706,  and  spent 
three  fruitful  years  in  studying  the  works 
of  Italian  masters,  among  whom  he  made 
many  friends,  and  writing,  in  turn,  many 
master  works  of  his  own  which  won  him  the 
enthusiastic  plaudits  of  music-loving  Flor- 
ence, Venice,  Naples  and  Rome.  On  his  re- 
return  to  Germany,  he  accepted  a  position  as 
court  musician  to  the  Elector  of  Hanover. 
The  desire  to  see  new  countries  seized  him 
soon,  however,  and  in  1710  he  went  to  Eng- 
land on  a  "leave  of  absence."  London  was 
to  be  his  real  home.  There  his  operas  be- 
came the  rage.  Fame  and  money  effaced  all 
memories  of,  and  sense  of  obligation  to, 
his    Hanoverian    employer.       The    English 


28 Alia  Breve 

court  attracted  him  more;  and,  not  paus- 
ing to  weigh  political  considerations,  he 
wrote  a  "Te  Deum"  in  praise  of  the  peace  of 
Utrecht,  signed  in  1713,  whereby  England 
was  distinctly  favored  at  the  expense  of  the 
Continent,  including  the  sulking  Elector  of 
Hanover.  Providence  seemed  sadly  remiss 
when  in  1714,  according  to  dynastic  settle- 
ment, this  very  Prince,  as  George  I,  ascended 
the  throne  of  Great  Britain.  Handel  was  in 
an  awkward  situation.  But  Providence 
came  to  the  rescue  with  a  royal  pleasure  trip 
on  the  river  Thames,  for  which  Handel  wrote 
some  "water  music"  that  greatly  delighted 
the  King  and  led  to  a  reconciliation.  There- 
after, Handel  was  in  high  favor  at  the  Court. 
For  a  time  he  was  attached  as  organist  to  the 
Duke  of  Chandos;  he  gave  the  daughters  of 
the  Prince  of  Wales  lessons  on  the  harpsi- 
chord, writing  for  the  young  ladies,  among 
other  studies,  "The  Harmonious  Black- 
smith." But  his  life  was  devoted  to  the 
opera  and  to  the  theatre,  composing  many 


George  Frederic  Handel  29 

of  his  scores  in  postcoaches  on  his  mad 
journeys  across  the  Continent,  in  search  for 
singers,  ever  greater  and  more  renowned, 
with  whom  to  attract  a  fickle  crowd.  The 
story  of  these  thousand  and  one  evenings 
of  opera  is  almost  as  dramatic  and  fantastic 
as  are  the  tales  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 
Princes  of  the  blood  royal  and  princesses  of 
florid  song  pass  before  us  in  a  iong  and  bril- 
liant chain,  good  genii  who  bring  treasures  to 
the  box  office,  demons  sowing  the  seeds  of 
jealousy;  magic  airs  which  charm  a  populace, 
tragic  complications  spelling  ruin.  A  Dan- 
ish traveller  reports  that  in  1728,  at  the 
debut  of  a  new  soprano,  the  audience  threw 
more  than  1000  guineas  on  the  stage,  in 
token — crude  but  positive — of  its  approval. 
Competition  added  to  the  zest  of  the  game. 
If  the  composers  Bononcini  and  Porpora  were 
not  trying  to  steal  the  thunderbolt  from 
Handel,  it  was  La  Cuzzoni  bent  on  wresting 
from  La  Faustina  the  fulgurating  flash  of 
coloratura.     Intrigues,    mismanagement,    the 


30 Alia  Breve 

race  with  rival  companies,  led  finally  to 
Handel's  failure.  Discouraged  and  broken 
in  health,  he  turned  to  another  form  of  com- 
position, the  oratorio,  in  which  he  was  to 
immortalize  himself. 

Cured  from  a  passing  illness  caused  by 
worries  and  nervous  exertions,  he  showed  in 
his  oratorios  "Saul"  and  "Israel  in  Egypt" 
(both  written  in  1738)  that  the  old  vigor  re- 
mained, if  it  was  not  even  redoubled.  The 
organ  concertos  and  concerti  grossi  for  strings 
and  clavecin  date  from  the  same  period  of 
remarkable  creativeness.  In  November, 
1741,  he  went  to  Dublin  upon  the  invitation 
of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  lord-lieutenant 
of  Ireland,  carrying  in  his  trunk  the  manu- 
script of  "The  Messiah,"  written  in  the 
space  of  three  weeks  (from  August  22nd  to 
September  14th).  Destined  to  become  an 
institution  of  Musical  Christendom,  it  was 
first  publicly  performed  at  Dublin  on  April 
13th,  1742. 


George  Frederic  Handel  31 

According  to  Burney,  "Handel  at  this 
time  'did  bestride  our  musical  world  like  a 
Colossus.'  He  had  done  with  operas,  and 
after  his  return  from  Ireland,  applied  himself 
wholly  to  the  composition  of  sacred  music. 
In  1745,  I  performed  in  his  band,  sometimes 
on  the  violin,  and  sometimes  on  the  tenor, 
and  by  attending  the  rehearsals,  generally 
at  his  own  house  in  Lower  Brook  Street, 
and  sometimes  at  Carlton  House,  at  the 
desire  of  his  constant  patron  the  late  Prince 
of  Wales,  I  gratified  my  eager  curiosity  in 
seeing  and  examining  the  person  and  manners 
of  so  extraordinary  a  man,  as  well  as  in 
hearing  him  perform  on  the  organ.  He  was 
a  blunt  and  peremptory  disciplinarian  on 
these  occasions,  but  had  a  humour  and  wit 
in  delivering  his  instructions,  and  even  in 
chiding  and  finding  fault,  that  was  peculiar 
to  himself,  and  extremely  diverting  to  all 
but  those  on  whom  his  lash  was  laid." 

Handel's  oratorios  are  not  written  in 
the   style   of   Bach.       They   are   not   inter- 


32 Alia  Breve 

spersed  with  chorales  in  the  singing  of  which 
a  pious  congregation  joins.  His  theatrical 
mannerisms  he  retained.  While  his  subjects 
are  sometimes  biblical,  they  are  more  often 
mythological  or  allegoric.  His  melodies 
have  the  grander  sweep,  the  richer  ornamen- 
tation of  stage  music.  His  massive  chor- 
uses have  dramatic  life  rather  than  devo- 
tional depth.  Outside  of  his  many  oratorios 
and  his  numerous  operas  (to  German,  Italian 
and  English  texts),  Handel  wrote  other 
works  for  the  church,  concertos  for  organ, 
pieces  for  the  harpsichord  and  much  beauti- 
ful chamber  music.  Through  it  all,  you 
hear  the  accomplished  artist  and  idolized 
man  of  the  world  who  writes  to  obtain  a  cer- 
tain effect,  and  achieves  his  ends  with  the 
help  of  unflagging  energy  and  inexhaustible 
resourcefulness. — His  ashes  rest  in  West- 
minster Abbey  with  those  of  his  foster-land's 
greatest  sons. 


Ill 
GLUCK 


.  .  .  vous  esperez  que  je  vais  mettre  Gretry  au- 
dessus  de  Gluck  parce  que  1'impression  du  moment, 
fut-elle  plus  faible,  doit  effacer  celle  qui  est 
eloignee?  Eh,  bien,  il  n'en  sera  rien . . .  j'aime, 
je  cheris  le  talent  de  M.  Gretry,  et  j'estime  et 
admire  celui  de  M.  Gluck. 

— Mile,  de  Lespinasse 


Ill 

CHRISTOPH  WILLIBALD  GLUCK 

Gluck  was,  first  and  last,  a  composer  of 
operas. 

The  opera  is  a  mongrel  thing,  and,  for 
that  reason  perhaps,  is  afflicted  with  native 
weaknesses  which — ever  since  its  conception 
in  the  last  years  of  the  sixteenth  century — 
have  caused  its  growth  to  be  marked  by  so 
many  crises.  This  offspring  from  the  union 
of  Poetry  and  Music,  has  also  inherited  im- 
portant traits  from  other  and  more  distant 
relatives,  such  as  Painting,  Sculpture,  Archi- 
tecture, the  Drama  and  the  Pantomime.  It 
has  always  had  to  suffer  from  the  jealous 
interference  of  these  different  strains.  No 
sooner  had  the  first,  vague  specimen  of  opera 
been  derived  from  the  ballet  and  "pastorale" 
by  that  circle  of  Florentine  amateurs  which 
included  the  poet  Rinuccini  and  the  mu- 
sicians    Peri     and     Caccini,     than     Claudio 

[35  1 


36  Alia  Breve 

Monteverdi,  a  man  of  genius,  improved  upon 
the  then  prevailing  methods  of  the  chanted 
play,  and  incidentally  broke  new  roads  into 
theretofore  unexplored  realms  of  harmony. 
Gluck,  in  his  endeavor  to  fight  the  surfeit 
of  florid  and  meaningless  melody  indulged 
in  by  the  Italian  school  of  1750,  not  only 
reorganized  the  opera,  but  paved  a  way  for 
Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony,  as  well  as  for 
Mozart's  "Don  Giovanni."  Wagner — in  op- 
posing the  froth  and  sparkle  of  Rossini,  the 
turgid  pomp  of  Meyerbeer — followed  his 
own  doctrine  of  the  "music-drama"  (akin, 
in  type,  to  that  of  Gluck)  and  wrought  the 
marvels  of  sound  which  have  not  ceased  to 
color  the  musical  thought  of  his  successors. 
Then  followed  Debussy  with  "Pelleas  et 
Melisande,"  writing  music  in  which  the 
spoken  phrase  again  became  decisive  for  the 
melodic  curve  of  the  voice-parts  (much  in 
accordance  with  Monteverdi's  practice). 
Lastly,  Igor  Stravinsky's  "Petroushka," 
abolishing  the  word  completely,   reverts  to 


Christoph  Willibald  Gluck  37 

pantomime  and  dance  alone.  The  circle 
seems  closed,  so  far  as  concerns  operatic 
possibilities.  But  music  has  made  greater 
strides  in  those  three  centuries,  through  its 
connection  with  the  stage,  than  in  the  pre- 
vious three  thousand  years. 

The  opera  stage — that  place  where  all  the 
Seven  Arts  so  strangely  mingle — has  been  the 
favorite  battleground  on  which  these  rival 
relatives  have  settled  their  pretensions  to 
supremacy.  It  is  significant  that  in  these 
combats  music  should  oftenest  have  cham- 
pioned the  cause  of  either  poetry,  the  drama, 
or  of  painting,  rather  than  her  own,  and  yet 
have  reaped  the  spoils  of  victory  herself  in 
what  is  not  merely  peculiar  to  dramatic  ends, 
but  most  essentially  musical.  Every  time 
that  operatic  reform  was  sought,-  it  was  mu- 
sical reform  that  was  achieved.  And  reform, 
in  art,  is  not  infrequently  a  remembering  of 
some  vital  principle,  which  in  the  course  of 
time  has  been  lost  to  view,  while  less  import- 
ant factors  have  developed  to  such  a  degree 


38 Alia  Breve 

that  real  advance  is  possible  only  by  the 
return  to  an  earlier  point  of  departure,  which 
is  generally  identical  with  simplification  of 
artistic  means. 

Thus  Dr.  Burney,  after  meeting  the  com- 
poser at  Vienna  in  1772,  was  justified  in 
writing:  "The  Chevalier  Gluck  is  simplify- 
ing music."  That  puts  the  facts  into  the 
fewest  possible  words.  But  the  story  of  how 
Gluck  was  led  to  realize  the  need  for  simpli- 
fication and  succeeded  in  accomplishing  it, 
is  not  so  easily  told,  particularly  as  much  of 
his  early  life  and  development  is  shrouded  in 
comparative  darkness. 

The  parish  register  of  Weidenwang,  a 
village  of  the  Bavarian  Palatinate,  shows 
that  "Christophorus  Wilibaldus"  was  bap- 
tized there  on  July  4,  1714,  but  it  is  now 
generally  accepted  that  he  was  born  at  the 
nearby  Erasbach  (not  far  from  the  Bohe- 
mian border)  on  the  second  day  of  the 
month.  The  station  of  Gluck's  parents  was 
of  the  most  humble.     His  father  was  a  for- 


Christoph  Willibald  Gluck  39 

ester  in  the  services  of  various  Austrian 
and  Bohemian  noblemen.  The  family  was 
undoubtedly  of  Czech  origin.  It  seems  that 
in  1717  the  Glucks  were  transferred  to  the 
Bohemian  estates  of  Prince  Lobkowitz,  near 
the  town  of  Komotau.  Christoph  inherited 
the  love  of  music  characteristic  of  the  Bo- 
hemian race,  and  grew  up  in  a  country  where 
the  rich  Catholic  convents  and  landed  gentry 
cultivated  all  arts,  especially  music.  Such 
surroundings  could  not  fail  to  kindle  his 
talents.  He  received  a  good  school  education, 
and  in  1732  was  sent  to  the  University  of 
Prague  to  finish  his  humanistic  studies.  In 
order  to  replenish  his  meagre  purse,  he  gave 
music  lessons,  sang  in  church  and  played  for 
dances,  receiving  his  pay  sometimes  in 
victuals. 

At  Prague,  the  Minorite  father  Bohuslav 
Czernohorsky  (who  had  been  choirmaster  at 
Saint  Anne's  of  Padua  and  organist  at  Assisi) 
gave  Gluck  the  first  systematic  instruction 
in  composition.       Through  the  munificence 


40  Alia  Breve 

of  Prince  Lobkowitz,  Gluck  was  enabled  in 
1736  to  go  to  Vienna,  where  he  continued 
his  studies  and  often  played  at  musical  en- 
tertainments in  the  house  of  his  benefactor. 
There  he  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
Italian  Count  Melzi,  who  engaged  him  as 
"private  musician,"  and  in  1737  took  him  to 
Milan  where  he  placed  young  Gluck  under 
the  direction  of  J.  B.  Sammartini.  Gluck  re- 
mained for  four  years  the  pupil  of  this  able 
musician.  In  1741,  when  his  apprenticeship 
was  nearing  its  end,  he  wrote  his  first  opera, 
"Artaserse,"  to  words  by  Metastasio ;  it 
was  produced  at  La  Scala,  and  proved  a  great 
success.  Gluck,  at  that  time,  was  imbued 
with  all  the  principles  of  Italian  opera,  and 
the  number  of  his  works  written  in  the 
Italian  manner,  which  he  was  later  to  re- 
pudiate so  fervently,  is  great,  for  they  cover 
more  than  thirty  years  of  his  life.  His  fame 
as  an  opera  composer  began  to  spread  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  Italy. 


Christ oph  Willibald  Gluck  41 

In  1745,  upon  the  invitation  of  Lord 
Middlesex,  manager  of  the  Haymarket  Thea- 
tre, Gluck  went  to  England.  But  the  times 
were  not  favorable  to  opera.  Handel,  as 
a  producer,  had  just  gone  through  another 
failure.  In  London  the  Rebellion  was  rag- 
ing; all  foreigners  were  suspected.  Finally, 
on  January  7,  1746,  the  season  opened  with 
Gluck's  "La  Caduta  de'  Giganti,"  which 
had  only  five  performances.  Handel  had  a 
very  poor  opinion  of  the  young  composer's 
talents.  Gluck  also  met  Dr.  Arne  in  Lon- 
don. What  influence  the  latter's  simple 
English  ballads  may  have  had  on  Gluck,  is 
difficult  to  determine.  It  is  certain  that  to 
these  London  days  and  to  Gluck's  bitter 
experience  with  the  unsuccessful  adaptation 
of  new  words  to  some  of  his  older  tunes,  dates 
his  striving  for  "simplification"  and  his 
realization  that  text  and  music  should  closely 
fit  each  other:  the  word-sense  admits  of 
only  one  musical  interpretation,  which  must 
be    emotionally    telling,    metrically    correct, 


42 Alia  Breve 

and  supported  by  combinations  of  instru- 
ments which  lend  proper  coloring  to  the 
dramatic  situation. 

Alert  and  ambitious  in  his  youth,  vain 
and  grasping  in  old  age,  always  bent  upon 
the  pleasures  and  riches  of  this  world,  Gluck 
had  that  shrewdly  calculating  mind  which, 
paired  with  abundant  inborn  talent,  pro- 
duces the  most  spectacular  careers  of  genius. 
After  returning  to  Germany  in  1746,  Gluck 
spent  some  time  in  Dresden,  and  later  went 
back  to  Vienna.  The  opera  composer  of 
those  days  led  a  vagrant  life,  as  commissions 
for  new  works  were  apt  to  come  from  all 
points  of  the  compass,  and  generally  meant 
that  the  composer  had  to  prepare  and  con- 
duct the  performances  of  his  work.  In  the 
autumn  of  1748  Gluck  was  filling  such  an 
engagement  at  Hamburg.  Thence  he  went 
to  Copenhagen,  upon  an  invitation  from  the 
royal  Danish  court  to  write  a  festival  cantata. 
His  stay  at  Copenhagen  is  noteworthy  only 
in  so  far  as  it  brought  him  into  contact  with 


Christopk  JVillibald  Gluck  43 

Johann  Adolf  Scheibe,  a  mediocre  composer, 
but  a  keen  critic  and  astute  theorist.  Gluck 
possessed,  in  the  same  measure  as  Wagner, 
the  aptitude  for  absorbing,  and  improving 
upon,  the  ideas  of  others.  Thus  he  not  only 
fell  heir  to  the  melodies  of  his  homeland, 
traceable  in  more  than  one  of  his  later  works, 
but  successively  he  profited  by  the  lessons 
of  the  contrapuntist  Czernohorsky,  the  har- 
monist Sammartini,  the  balladist  Arne,  and 
finally  of  the  sesthetician  Scheibe.  The  last- 
named,  who  extolled  the  merits  of  Lully  and 
Rameau,  and  condemned  all  that  was  Italian, 
had  probably  the  greatest  influence  upon 
the  course  which  Gluck's  development  now 
took.  It  was  Scheibe  who  pronounced  the 
necessity  for  the  overture  of  an  opera  to 
"prepare"  the  listener  for  the  drama,  and 
to  "reflect,"  as  it  were,  the  whole  of  the 
action.  The  second  and  revised  edition  of 
his  "Critical  Musician"  appeared  in  the 
year  in  which  Gluck  visited  Copenhagen. 
The   book   contains   in   sum   and   substance 


44  Alia  Breve 

all  of  Gluck's  later  principles  of  "operatic 
reform."  Gluck  did  not  put  these  ideas  to  a 
test  until  he  wrote  "Telemacco"  for  the 
Teatro  Argentina  of  Rome,  in  1750,  which 
was  the  first  example  of  the  later  "Gluckian" 
tendencies. 

On  his  return  to  Vienna,  from  Copen- 
hagen, he  asked  for  the  hand  of  one  of  his 
pupils,  Marianna,  the  daughter  of  Joseph 
Pergin,  a  wealthy  money-lender  and  trader. 
But  the  father  refused  to  have  a  musician 
for  son-in-law.  When  Gluck  learned  in 
Italy,  the  following  year,  that  old  Pergin 
had  suddenly  died,  he  hastened  back  to 
Vienna  and  captured  Marianna  with  her 
handsome  dowry.  It  proved  a  very  happy 
marriage,  for  loving  and  meek  Marianna  was 
easily  overawed  by  the  splendid  selfishness 
of  her  great  husband. 

After  the  production  of  two  new  operas 
in  Rome,  in  1754,  Gluck  was  raised  to  the 
rank  of  a  papal  nobile.  Although  no  record 
of  the  patent  seems  to  exist  in  the  archives 


Chris to ph  IVillibald  Gluck  45 

of  the  Vatican,  the  fact  remains  that  from 
that  time  on  he  signed  himself,  and  was 
known  to  all,  as  the  "Chevalier  Gluck."  In 
the  same  year,  he  was  appointed  master  of 
the  Imperial  Chapel  at  Vienna  and  was  en- 
trusted with  the  musical  education  of  the 
little  Archdukes  and  Duchesses,  a  position 
which  he  held  until  1764  and  which,  ten 
years  later,  led  to  his  warm  reception  in  Paris 
by  his  former  pupil,  Marie  Antoinette,  who 
at  the  age  of  fifteen  was  married  to  the 
Dauphin  of  France. 

The  man  who  provided  Gluck  with  the 
first  libretto  that  answered  the  demands  of 
Scheibe  was  the  Italian  Calzabigi  in  Vienna. 
Not  a  great  poet,  but  a  man  with  dramatic 
instinct,  he  treated  "Orfeo  ed  Euridice,"  a 
subject  dear  to  operatic  composers  since  the 
days  of  Monteverdi,  in  a  manner  that 
afforded  Gluck  the  opportunity  to  show  his 
"innovations."  The  novel  work  received 
its  first  performance  at  Vienna,  October  5, 
1762,    and   created   a   sensation.     The   cast 


46  Alia  Breve 


included  only  three  leading  characters;  for 
the  first  time,  the  chorus  entered  into  the 
action  of  the  drama;  the  music  displayed 
no  brilliant  fireworks,  but  was  charged  with 
deep  emotion.  As  though  Gluck  did  not 
at  once  feel  secure  in  his  new  element,  this 
opera  was  followed  by  several  others  in  which 
the  composer  reverted  to  the  old  Italianism. 
But  with  "Alceste,"  again  to  a  text  by 
Calzabigi  (1767),  Gluck  definitely  abandoned 
his  earlier  style,  and  in  a  celebrated  pref- 
ace to  the  score  he  laid  down  his  new 
creed.  It  is  practically  a  declaration  of  war, 
and  begins  with  this  challenge:  "When  I 
undertook  to  set  this  poem  it  was  my  design 
to  divest  the  music  entirely  of  all  those 
abuses  with  which  the  vanity  of  singers,  or 
the  too  great  complacency  of  composers, 
has  long  disfigured  the  Italian  opera,  and 
rendered  the  most  beautiful  and  magnificent 
of  all  public  exhibitions,  the  most  tiresome 
and  ridiculous."  The  challenge  was  taken 
up  by  the  musicians  whom  he  attacked. 


Christoph  Willibald  Gluck 47 

The  ideal  at  which  Gluck  was  aiming  had 
been  approached  nowhere  more  closely  than 
in  the  French  opera.  It  was  to  Paris,  there- 
fore, that  he  looked  as  the  place  where  he 
could  realize  his  dreams.  Du  Rollet,  at- 
tached to  the  French  embassy  at  Vienna, 
entered  appreciatively  into  Gluck's  plan, 
and  tried  to  interest  the  Paris  Opera  in  a 
new  work  on  which  he  and  Gluck  had  col- 
laborated. The  difficulties  which  were 
raised  at  Paris  were  finally  brushed  aside 
through  the  intervention  of  the  young 
Dauphiness.  On  April  19,  1774,  "Iphigenie 
en  Aulide,"  that  gem  of  classic  stagecraft 
and  inspired  music,  first  saw  the  footlights 
at  the  Royal  Academy  in  Paris. 

Ten  days  after  the  premiere  of  "Iphi- 
genie," Louis  XV,  returning  from  a  hunt, 
fell  ill  with  smallpox,  and  died  on  May  10, 
1774.  Marie  Antoinette,  upon  becoming 
Queen  of  France,  bestowed  her  royal  grace 
upon  her  old  teacher,  and  with  the  support 
of   the   court   Gluck's   position   seemed    im- 


48 Alia  Breve 

pregnable.  Forever  famous  is  that  contro- 
versy between  the  followers  of  Gluck  and 
those  of  the  Italian  opera  composer,  Piccinni, 
who  came  to  Paris  in  1776,  and  whose  works 
had  been  loudly  and  justly  acclaimed  in 
Italy,  for  he  commanded  a  greater  lyric 
charm  than  Gluck  possessed.  The  anti- 
Austrian  party,  led  by  the  Queen's  aunts, 
encouraged  the  Piccinnists  with  their  ap- 
proval. The  political  quarrel  and  artistic 
competition  were  merged,  to  the  great  satis- 
faction of  Gluck's  pugnacious  nature.  When 
he  was  invited  to  take  up  his  permanent 
abode  in  Paris,  he  demanded  12,000  livres 
the  year,  a  carriage  for  his  wife  (!),  and  a 
decent  house.  In  return  he  agreed  to  fur- 
nish one  opera  every  year,  except  if  prevented 
by  sickness,  and  he  professed  his  willingness 
to  advise  young  composers,  "so  that  good 
taste  may  become  established,  without 
danger  of  ever  being  changed." 

Gluck's  remarkable  personality,  not  less 
than  his  music,  fascinated  court  and  public. 


Christoph  Willibald  Gluck 49 

When  at  rehearsals,  in  shirt-sleeves  and  with 
a  nightcap  pulled  over  his  bald  head,  he 
finally  got  through  shouting  his  disapproval 
at  singers  and  orchestra  until  his  wishes  were 
carried  out,  and  he  sank  exhausted  and  per- 
spiring into  a  seat,  the  pairs  of  France  would 
wait  on  him  with  cooling  lemonade,  and 
bring  him  his  wig  and  velvet  coat. 

His  letters,  whether  in  German  or  French, 
are  marked  by  a  haughty  disregard  for 
orthography,  and  abound  in  sallies  and  clever 
observations,  also  in  bitter  and  spiteful 
criticisms.  In  July,  1775,  when  he  was  at 
work  on  the  remodelling  of  "Alceste"  for 
Paris,  he  wrote  to  Du  Rollet,  who  was  making 
a  French  translation  of  the  libretto  and 
wanted  to  introduce  at  the  end  of  the  third 
act  a  situation  which  was  not  according  to 
the  composer's  taste:  "What,  in  the  devil's 
name,  do  you  want  Apollo  to  do  there  with 
the  Arts;  they  are  only  good  in  his  company 
on  Mount  Parnassus;  here  they  interfere 
with  the  interest  in   the  catastrophe."     He 


50 Alia  Breve 

proceeded  to  give  minute  directions  for  the 
scene,  going  so  far  as  to  sketch  out  the 
dialogue.  His  temper  was  formidable. 
Burney  speaks  of  him  as  "a  very  dragon,  of 
whom  all  are  in  fear."  When  at  work  his 
head  was  "buzzing  like  a  beehive,  and  his 
wife  in  despair."  But  he  could  be  charming 
and  captivating.  When  Burney  visited  him 
in  Vienna,  on  Wednesday,  September  2, 
1772,  he  found  the  composer  "very  well 
housed,"  with  a  pretty  garden  and  "a  great 
number  of  neat  and  elegantly  furnished 
rooms.  .  .  .  He  has  no  children;  Madame 
Gluck,  and  his  niece  who  lives  with  him, 
came  to  receive  us  at  the  door  as  well  as  the 
veteran  composer  himself.  He  is  much 
pitted  with  the  smallpox,  and  very  coarse 
in  figure  and  look,  but  was  soon  got  into 
good  humour.  He  began,  upon  a  very  bad 
harpsichord,  by  accompanying  his  niece, 
who  is  but  thirteen  years  old,  in  two  of  the 
capital  scenes  of  his  famous  opera  of  Alceste." 


Christoph  Willibald  Gluck  51 

After  the  French  performance  of  "Al- 
ceste"  in  1776,  followed  "Armide"  the  next 
year,  and  in  1779  the  wonderful  "Iphigenie 
en  Tauride."  His  last  work  written  for 
Paris,  "Echo  et  Narcisse,"  was  a  failure. 
Disappointed,  after  five  years  of  unheard-of 
success  and  glorification,  he  retired  sulkingly 
to  his  castle  Berchtholdsdorf,  near  Vienna, 
where  he  remained  for  the  last  eight  years 
of  his  life  in  wilful  silence,  watching  the 
stock-market  and  enjoying  the  delicacies 
of  his  well-appointed  larder  and  cellar.  On 
May  30,  1780,  he  wrote  to  Paris:  "I  wish 
that  some  one  come  to  take  my  place,  and 
please  the  public  with  his  music,  that  I  be 
left  in  peace,  for  I  can't  forget  all  the  prattle 
of  friend  and  foe  I  had  to  listen  to,  with 
regard  to  Narcissus,  nor  to  pills  I  had  to 
swallow;  the  Frenchmen  can't  yet  distinguish 
a  musical  eglogue  from  an  epic  poem!"  He 
was  peeved  and  did  not  hesitate  to  say  so. 
He  sought  solace  in  the  blessings  of  rare 
vintages.     But   after   a    stroke   of   apoplexy 


52 Alia  Breve 

he  had  to  renounce  them,  too.  On  No- 
vember 25,  1787,  having  two  friends  from 
Paris  for  dinner,  he  could  not  resist  the 
temptation,  and,  at  a  moment  when  his 
watchful  spouse  had  left  the  room  to  order 
the  carriage  for  his  regular  afternoon  drive, 
he  emptied  a  glass  of  wine,  which  brought  on 
another  stroke.     This  time  it  was  a  fatal  one. 


IV 

HAYDN 


Les  ouvrages  anciens  ne  sont  pas  classiques 
parce  qu  lis  sont  vieux,  mais  parce  qu'ils  sont 
energiques,  frais,  et  dispos. 

— Sainte-Beuve 


IV 
JOSEF  HAYDN 

The  lifetime  of  "Papa  Haydn"  covers  one 
of  the  most  eventful  epochs  in  history.  Josef 
was  born  in  1732  (on  March  31)  at  Rohrau, 
Lower  Austria,  seven  years  before  Maria 
Theresa  (1740-80),  Empress  of  Austria, 
ascended  the  throne.  He  died  in  1809  (on 
May  31)  at  Vienna,  a  few  days  after. the 
troops  of  Napoleon  had  occupied  the  Aus- 
trian capital. 

Within  these  dates  lie  the  wars  between 
Prussia  and  Austria  (1740-63),  Bavaria  and 
Austria  (1778-79),  Turkey  and  Austria  (1789- 
91),  the  French  Revolution,  the  advent  of 
Bonaparte  and  his  victorious  campaigns 
against  the  greater  part  of  Europe,  especially 
Austria.  But  not  only  in  the  countries  in 
which  Haydn  lived  or  which  he  visited,  was 
history  being  made,  in  his  day;  across  the 
Atlantic,   a  war  of  liberation  from  English 

[55] 


56  Alia  Breve 

sovereignty  was  followed  by  the  organizing 
of  thirteen  colonies  into  the  United  States  of 
America.  This  war-ridden  eighteenth  cen- 
tury is  among  the  most  fertile  and  highly 
developed  eras  in  the  evolution  of  peace- 
loving  arts  and  sciences. 

Music,  when  Haydn  was  born,  was  still 
a  comparatively  young  art,  lacking  in  the 
more  rigorous  conceptions  of  form.  It  owes 
to  him,  especially  in  the  field  of  orchestral 
and  chamber-music,  the  establishing  of  cer- 
tain moulds  and  frames  which  still  remain 
the  architectural  basis  of  musical  composi- 
tion. This  creative  and  unerring  sense  of 
shape  and  balance  is  Haydn's  distinguishing 
mark  among  the  masters  of  his  time,  and  the 
great  heritage  he  left  to  his  successors.  He 
had  given  early  proof  of  musical  talent  and 
had  a  fine  voice,  which  was  the  cause  of  his 
leaving  the  rural  province  of  his  birth,  in 
1740,  and  becoming  a  choirboy  at  St. 
Stephen's,  in  Vienna,  where  he  received  a 
musical  and  general  education.     In  1748  he 


Josef  Haydn  S7 

lost  his  voice  and  his  position  in  the  choir. 
Then  began  a  time  of  hardships,  during 
which  he  gave  lessons,  played  for  dances  and 
street  "serenades,"  which  latter  belonged 
to  the  fashionable  ways  of  courting  in  those 
days.  He  lived  in  the  same  house  with  the 
famous  poet  and  librettist  Metastasio,  whose 
young  protegee,  Marianna  Martinez,  became 
one  of  his  pupils.  Through  Metastasio  he 
made  valuable  acquaintances  among  mu- 
sicians. The  pupil  grew  up  to  be  the  famous 
Mademoiselle  Martinez  whom  the  learned 
English  traveller  and  musicographer  Burney 
heard  at  Vienna,  in  1773,  and  of  whose 
accomplishments  he  could  not  say  enough. 
Haydn  soon  found  an  opportunity  to 
come  in  touch  with  rich  and  noble  amateurs 
who  did  much  for  the  cultivation  of  music 
by  maintaining  private  string-quartets,  or- 
chestras and  even  theatrical  troupes.  Haydn 
wrote  for  them  his  first  piano  sonatas  and 
chamber-music;  his  first  opera  dates  from 
1753,  three  years  before  the  birth  of  Mozart, 


58 Alia  Breve 

whom  he  survived  by  eighteen  years,  a 
period  pregnant  with  the  composition  of  his 
greatest  oratorios,  "The  Creation"  and  "The 
Seasons." 

In  1761,  Haydn  entered  the  service  of 
the  princely  house  of  Esterhazy,  Hungarian 
magnates  of  immense  wealth  and  great 
culture;  four  masters,  belonging  to  three 
generations,  were  his  kind  and  generous 
protectors.  He  remained  in  their  employ 
for  twenty-eight  years  (practically  the  whole 
of  Mozart's  artistic  career),  spending  the 
summers  in  Eisenstadt,  Hungary,  and  the 
winters  in  Vienna.  Paul  Anton  Esterhazy 
dissolved  the  orchestra  in  1790,  granting 
Haydn  a  substantial  pension.  Haydn  now 
felt  free  to  accept  the  invitation  which  had 
come  from  London  to  visit  England  and  to 
conduct  orchestra  concerts  there,  also  to 
write  for  these  occasions  a  set  of  new  sym- 
phonies. He  arrived  in  London  on  Jan- 
uary 2,  1791,  and  stayed  in  England  until 
1792.     On  his  return  to  the  Continent,  he 


Josef  Haydn  59 

passed  through  Bonn,  where  a  musician 
named  Ludwig  van  Beethoven,  aged  twenty- 
two,  was  introduced  to  him.  He  thought 
so  much  of  the  young  man's  talents  that 
he  urged  Beethoven  to  follow  him  to 
Vienna  and  study  with  him.  In  January, 
1794,  Haydn  paid  a  second  visit  to  London, 
where  the  same  honors  and  pecuniary  gains 
awaited  him  that  had  marked  his  first  so- 
journ in  England. 

When  Haydn  returned  to  Vienna,  in 
August,  1795,  he  was  a  celebrated  master 
and  rich  man.  Nicolas  Esterhazy,  son  of 
Paul  Anton,  reinstalled  the  orchestra  of 
his  grandfather  and  placed  Haydn  at  the 
head  of  it.  Haydn  bought  a  house  near 
Vienna  and  enjoyed  the  fruits  of  his  in- 
dustry together  with  the  homage  paid  to 
his  genius.  But  the  general  unrest  of  Eu- 
rope, particularly  the  revolutionary  upheaval 
in  France,  made  itself  felt  even  in  the  quiet 
of  Haydn's  retreat.  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
had  started  on  his  dazzling  round  of  military 


60 Alia  Breve 

and  diplomatic  victories.  In  the  month  of 
January,  1797,  in  which  the  great  Corsican 
overthrew  the  Austrians  at  Rivoli,  Haydn — 
being  intensely  patriotic — wrote  the  famous 
imperial  hymn,  which  quickly  became  the 
rallying  song  of  a  faltering  populace  and 
army.  The  hymn  has  lately  been  thrown 
into  the  discard  by  a  republican  Austria. 

In  England,  Haydn  had  heard  wonder- 
ful performances  of  Handel's  oratorios,  and 
it  was  due  to  English  influences  that  he 
now  tried  his  hand  at  the  same  form  of  com- 
position. "The  Creation"  was  finished  in 
1798,  first  given  in  Vienna  during  the  follow- 
ing year,  and  performed  in  Paris  in  1800,  the 
year  of  Napoleon's  victory  at  Marengo.  It 
was  in  Paris,  too,  that  the  first  complete 
edition  of  Haydn's  quartets  was  published, 
bearing  the  dedication  "To  the  First  Consul." 
Haydn  was  sixty-nine  years  old  when  he 
wrote  "The  Seasons,"  a  work  of  perennial 
charm  and  universal  appeal. 


Josef  Haydn  61 

Continued  wars  had  brought  with  them 
conditions  which  could  not  fail  to  undermine 
the  already  declining  health  of  an  aged  and 
sensitive  person.  Haydn  fainted,  on  the  10th 
of  May,  1809,  at  the  sound  of  French  cannon 
bombarding  Vienna;  his  spirit  was  com- 
pletely broken  when  the  enemy  entered  the 
Austrian  capital,  three  days  later;  and  on 
May  31  Haydn  expired  with — as  tradition 
has  it — a  prayer  for  the  house  of  Hapsburg 
on  his  lips. 

They  were  truly  great  times  in  which 
this  master  lived;  and  great  were  his  own 
achievements.  Music  was  in  a  formative 
state,  and  it  required  just  such  a  logical, 
clear  mind  as  that  of  Haydn  to  open  for 
it  ways  which  made  possible  the  organic 
development  that  it  received  at  the  hands 
of  his  successors.  His  special  domains  were 
the  orchestra  and  the  string-quartet.  Even 
considering  his  long  lifetime,  his  productive- 
ness was  amazing.  Not  equalling  Mozart 
in  the  sensuous  beauty  of  that  composer's 


62 Alia  Breve 

finest  inspirations,  nor  Beethoven  in  the 
grandeur  of  conception  and  power  of  expres- 
sion, Haydn's  music  excels  in  animation, 
grace,  and  polish  of  workmanship,  which 
are  the  salient  features  of  that  unique 
period — marked  by  frills  and  furbelows, 
Dresden  china  and  minuets — commonly 
known  as  rococo. 


V 

MOZART 


Je  ferais  dix  lieues  a  pied  par  la  crotte,  la  chose 
que  je  dereste  le  plus  au  monde,  pour  assister  a 
une  representation  de  "Don  Juan"  bien  jouee. 

— Stendhal 


V 
WOLFGANG  AMADEUS  MOZART 

Only  with  the  reverence  felt  for  saints  and 
martyrs,  can  one  speak  of  Mozart's  life  and 
death.  If  ever  a  master  was  born,  not  made, 
it  was  the  boy  Wolfgang  Amadeus,  who 
seemed  to  have  been  taught  music  in  another 
world,  in  a  celestial  realm,  before  he  came 
to  dwell  on  earth.  And  it  is  music  of  the 
spheres,  indeed,  that  we  hear  in  the  "Jupiter 
Symphony";  music  of  elemental  power  that 
seizes  our  heart  in  the  finale  of  "Don  Gio- 
vanni"; music  of  supernal  serenity  and 
beauty  that  radiates  from  his  adagios  for 
string-quartet.  Everlasting  youth  seems  to 
have  been  bestowed  by  just  divinities  upon 
the  work  of  one  they  called  away  so  young. 

When  Mozart  was  born  at  Salzburg,  on 
January  27,  1756,  his  father,  Leopold,  had 
been  for  thirteen  years  court  musician  to 
the   Archbishop   of   that   town;   the   family 

[65] 


66 Alia  Breve 

lived  in  very  modest  circumstances.  The 
father,  therefore,  was  quick  in  taking  ad- 
vantage of  his  son's  phenomenal  gifts,  which 
became  apparent  when  the  boy,  at  the  age 
of  four,  was  able  to  improvise  little  pieces 
at  the  clavichord.  Being  himself  an  excellent 
musician,  Leopold  gave  the  youngster  the 
best  of  training.  He  obtained  leave  of 
absence  from  the  Archbishop,  in  1762,  and 
took  his  six-year-old  son  and  eleven-year-old 
daughter  (Maria  Anna,  also  a  talented 
pianist)  on  their  first  concert  tour.  Now 
began  a  time  of  travel  through  southern 
Germany,  to  Paris,  and  to  London,  with 
stops  at  every  royal  court  or  principality, 
where  the  performances  of  the  two  prodigies 
earned  much  applause  and  rich  rewards. 
The  cherubic  little  fellow,  whose  delicate 
features  and  gentle  ways  were  the  delight 
of  every  one,  passed  from  one  princely  knee 
to  another,  the  length  and  breadth  of  Europe, 
being  petted  and  caressed  by  soft,  bejewelled 
hands,    and   having   his   pockets   filled   with 


Wolfgang  Amadeus  Mozart 67 


sweetmeats  and  ducats.  The  candy  was 
soon  eaten  and  the  money  spent.  In  1766 
the  travellers  returned  to  Salzburg,  and 
young  Mozart  entered  the  Archbishop's  or- 
chestra at  a  salary  of  about  three  dollars  a 
month!  He  studied  counterpoint  and  com- 
position, and  composed  many  works,  some  of 
which  were  published;  but  his  compositions 
did  not  meet  with  unreserved  approval.  A 
contemporary  wrote  of  him:  "He  is  one 
further  instance  of  early  fruit  being  more 
extraordinary  than  excellent." 

Leopold  Mozart,  a  far-seeing  man,  realized 
that  Salzburg  could  not  offer  the  proper 
development  his  son's  talents  demanded. 
He  obtained  another  leave  of  absence,  and  in 
December,  1769,  took  the  boy  to  Italy. 
Here  the  child  won  triumphs  wherever  he 
appeared.  He  received  commissions  for  the 
composition  of  operas  and  other  music. 
The  eminent  musician  Padre  Martini,  of 
Bologna,  praised  him  warmly;  the  Pope  in 
Rome  rewarded  him  with  the  "Order  of  the 


68 Alia  Breve 

Golden  Spur";  at  Milan,  his  opera  "Mitri- 
date"  had  twenty  performances  in  succession. 
After  such  experiences  the  provincial  life 
of  Salzburg,  the  meager  gain  obtained  there, 
were  naturally  depressing  and  discouraging. 
When  the  Archbishop  refused  him  another 
leave,  in  1777,  young  Mozart  resigned  his 
position,  and  tried  his  luck  in  Munich;  but 
here  his  reception  was  rather  cool.  He  fared 
better  in  Paris,  where  his  symphonies  had 
great  success.  Nevertheless,  he  made  only  a 
precarious  living  with  teaching  and  with 
playing  at  private  concerts.  He  finally 
was  obliged  to  return  into  the  service  of 
the  Archbishop,  this  time  at  a  somewhat 
higher  salary.  With  his  "Idomeneo"  he 
began  to  follow  the  methods  of  Gluck,  who 
had  imparted  to  opera  dramatic  life  such 
as  it  had  not  possessed  before. 

In  1781,  Mozart  definitely  left  Salz- 
burg for  Vienna.  Joseph  II  became  in- 
terested in  him  and  commissioned  him  to 
write  an  opera  for  the  German  stage  which 


Wolfgang  Amadeus  Mozart  69 

had  been  inaugurated  by  the  Emperor  in 
1778.  Always  fighting  the  adversities  of 
life  and  trying  hard  to  earn  his  daily  bread, 
he  sought  refuge  in  the  haven  of  marriage. 
But  ill  winds  pursued  him  still,  and  his 
cares  only  grew.  His  superb  opera,  "The 
Marriage  of  Figaro,"  which  contains  the 
purest  essence  of  charm,  grace  and  wit  (in- 
spired by  an  epoch-making  comedy  of  the 
French  author  Beaumarchais),  was  nearly 
made  impossible  at  its  first  performance, 
in  1785,  by  the  intentional  neglect  of  intri- 
guing singers,  so  that  the  composer  had  to 
appeal  to  the  Emperor  for  help.  In  the  same 
year  fall  the  six  wonderful  quartets,  dedi- 
cated to  Haydn.  "Don  Giovanni"  was 
successfully  given  at  Prague,  in  1787.  During 
the  period  from  1788  to  1790  he  composed  his 
ripest  orchestral  symphonies. 

Michael  Kelly,  the  Irish  tenor,  tells  in  his 
Reminiscences  of  his  first  meeting  with 
Mozart  in  Vienna:  "He  favoured  the  com- 
pany by  performing  fantasias  and  capriccios 


70  Alia  Breve 


on  the  piano-forte.  His  feeling,  the  rapidity 
of  his  fingers,  the  great  execution  and 
strength  of  his  left  hand  particularly,  and 
the  apparent  inspiration  of  his  modulations, 
astounded  me.  After  this  splendid  per- 
formance we  sat  down  to  supper,  and  I  had 
the  pleasure  to  be  placed  between  him  and 
his  wife,  Madame  Constance  Weber,  a 
german  lady  of  whom  he  was  passionately 
fond,  and  by  whom  he  had  three  children. — 
After  supper  the  young  branches  of  our  host 
had  a  dance,  and  Mozart  joined  them.  Ma- 
dame Mozart  told  me,  that  great  as  his 
genius  was,  he  was  an  enthusiast  in  dancing, 
and  often  said  that  his  taste  lay  in  that  art 
rather  than  in  music." — Would  that  he  had 
been  a  dancer,  too,  and  could  have  earned 
the  salaries  of  a  Vestris,  d'Auberval  or  Du- 
port,  instead  of  often  going  hungry.  The 
world  forgets  sometimes  to  pay  the  piper. 

Kelly  gives  this  description  of  Mozart: 
"He  was  a  remarkably  small  man,  very  thin 
and  pale,  with  a  profusion  of  fine  hair,  of 


Wolfgang  Amadeus  Mozart  7\ 

which  he  was  rather  vain. — He  was  fond  of 
punch,  of  which  beverage  I  have  seen  him 
take  copious  draughts.  He  was  also  fond 
of  billiards,  and  had  an  excellent  billiard 
table  in  his  house.  Many  and  many  a  game 
have  I  played  with  him,  but  always  came 
off  second  best."  We  can  almost  see  the 
sprightly  figure  jump  around  the  green  cloth, 
and  hear  the  boyish  laughter  at  some 
especially  successful  coup.  Success  was 
so  negligent  of  him  during  the  last  span 
of  his  brief  existence! 

Named  court-musician  by  the  Emperor, 
in  1789,  he  still  lacked  the  financial  support 
that  would  have  made  his  existence  carefree. 
He  refused  a  lucrative  position  offered  him 
by  the  King  of  Prussia,  because  of  his  de- 
votion to  his  imperial  master.  In  the  last 
year  of  his  life  he  wrote  "The  Magic  Flute" 
and  "La  Clemenza  di  Tito,"  two  operas,  the 
one  in  German,  the  other  in  Italian.  The 
latter  he  completed  in  eighteen  days.  His 
last  work  was  a  Requiem  mass.     He  passed 


72 Alia  Breve 

away  on  December  5,  1791,  and  was  buried 
in  a  pauper's  grave,  unmarked  and  un- 
remembered    by    his    contemporaries. 

The  prodigy  who  could  perform  astound- 
ing feats,  had  been  showered  with  honors  and 
presents;  the  incomparable  master,  at  the 
height  of  his  creative  powers,  was  neglected 
and  died  in  want.  The  irony  of  Fate  willed 
that  on  his  deathbed  he  should  be  apprised 
of  his  nomination  to  the  full  conductorship 
at  the  cathedral  of  St.  Stephen's,  the  first 
position  that  would  have  assured  him  ease. 
But  his  peace  was  to  be  eternal,  and  his  glory 
immortal. 

Mozart  stands  solitary  in  the  history  of 
music,  detached  and  unsurpassed.  His  sunny 
nature,  unclouded  by  the  worries  and  griefs 
that  weighed  on  him,  found  expression  in 
tones  that  are,  above  all,  human.  His  music 
breathes  serenity  and  simplicity;  his  is  an 
art  that  one  is  tempted  to  call  "artless," 
thereby  paying  it  the  highest  tribute 
possible.     In  his  concertos  and  sonatas  for 


Wolfgang  Amadeus  Mozart 73 

piano  or  violin,  in  his  chamber-music  for 
strings  or  wind-instruments,  in  his  serious  or 
his  comic  operas,  in  his  choral  compositions 
or  orchestral  symphonies — everywhere  he 
has  impressed  upon  his  work  the  stamp  of 
his  personality,  inimitable  and  unmistakable. 


VI 

BEETHOVEN 


Sorrow  is  hard  to  bear,  and  doubt  is  slow  to  clear, 
Each  sufferer  says  his  say,   his  scheme  of  the 
weal  and  woe: 
But  God  has  a  few  of  us  whom  he  whispers  in  the 

The   rest    may    reason    and    welcome:    'tis    we 
musicians  know. 

— Robert  Browning 


VI 
LUDWIG  van  BEETHOVEN 

No  composer  left  a  clearer  and  more  con- 
nected story  of  his  life,  than  that  which  Beet- 
hoven wrote  into  his  music.  These  works, 
stretching  over  a  period  of  forty  years,  tell 
the  growth  of  his  marvelous  genius  from- 
auspicious  beginnings,  through  glorious 
struggles,  to  tragic  grandeur.  When  he 
could  no  longer  hear  the  sounds  around  him, 
he  listened  to  a  voice  within;  shut  off  from 
intercourse  with  humanity,  he  held  commun- 
ion with  the  stars.  And  then  came  into 
being  the  Ninth  Symphony,  the  Missa 
solemnis,  and  the  last  string-quartets. 

From  the  titles  of  some  of  Beethoven's 
compositions,  from  the  dedications  of  others, 
and  from  the  contents  of  nearly  all  of  them, 
one  may  read  the  course  of  his  life,  and  re- 
trace an  epoch  in  the  world's  history.  Be- 
tween   that    solemn    mass,    written    for   his 

[  77  1 


78 Alia  Breve 

friend  and  protector,  Archduke  Rudolf — 
whose  most  illustrious  title  is  not  Prince 
of  the  House  of  Austria-Lorraine,  nor  Arch- 
bishop of  Olmiitz,  nor  Cardinal  of  the 
Roman  Curia,  but  the  "Piano-pupil  of 
Beethoven" — between  that  triumphant  ex- 
pression of  religious  faith  and  a  little  "con- 
ciliatory" canon  for  Maelzel  (the  inventor 
of  the  metronome,  whose  futile  efforts  to 
perfect  an  ear-trumpet  had  irritated  the 
poor  suiferer),  what  wealth,  what  variety 
of  "human  documents!"  Cries  of  passion, 
that  call  to  the  perfect  mate;  hymns  to 
nature,  which  sing  his  love  for  wood  and 
field;  professions  of  ardent  patriotism, 
evoked  by  the  turn  of  political  events:  these 
are  the  three  main  themes  that  run  through 
all  of  Beethoven's  music,  until  at  last  they 
seem  to  be  fused  into  one,  that  of  sublime 
resignation.  From  a  sentimental  ballad, 
Adelaide,  of  1796,  instantly  acclaimed  and 
published  in  numberless  transcriptions,  to 
the  Eroica  symphony,  first  "privately"  per- 


Ludwig  van  Beethoven 79 


formed  in  1804;  from  the  opera  Fidelio, 
coolly  received  in  1805,  to  the  quartets  of 
1826,  decried  as  the  deed  of  a  lunatic:  what 
stupendous  strides,  and  also  what  illuminat- 
ing side-lights  on  contemporary  appreciation! 
And  yet  all  Vienna  followed  his  hearse, 
when  he  died  on  March  26,  1827,  and  all  the 
world  knew  that  it  had  lost  a  Titan. 

As  certain  towns  of  Italy,  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  attracted  painters  from  far 
and  near,  to  work  there  under  the  protection 
afforded  them  by  some  art-loving  dignitary 
of  the  realm  or  church,  so  was  Vienna  for  a 
long  time  the  goal  of  musicians,  thanks  to  the 
enlightenment  and  munificence  of  the  Aus- 
trian court  and  aristocracy.  No  one  bene- 
fited more  thereby  than  did  Beethoven. 
Although  born  at  Bonn,  on  the  Rhine 
(December  16,  1770),  young  Ludwig  had 
found  early  in  his  father's  employer,  Prince- 
bishop  Max  Franz,  Elector  of  Cologne,  a 
member  of  the  Hapsburg  family,  who  acted 
as   his   benevolent  patron.     It  was   due   to 


80 Alia  Breve 

the  connections  between  Cologne  and  Vienna 
that  Ludwig,  in  his  seventeenth  year,  was 
sent  to  the  Austrian  capital  to  pursue  his 
piano  studies.  He  had  a  few  lessons  from 
Mozart.  Unfortunately,  his  mother's  death 
soon  called  him  back  to  Bonn,  where  he 
remained,  giving  lessons  and  pursuing  his 
own  studies,  until  in  1792  Haydn,  passing 
through  Bonn  on  his  return  from  England, 
heard  Beethoven  and  offered  to  accept  him 
as  pupil  if  he  settled  in  Vienna.  This  in- 
vitation was  too  good  to  go  unheeded. 
Beethoven's  friend,  Count  Waldstein — and 
the  story  of  Beethoven's  life  is  largely  a 
story  of  Beethoven's  friends — saw  to  it  that 
nothing  interfered  with  the  realization  of 
this  plan.  And  so  Beethoven  went  to 
Vienna.  He  had  great  success  with  his 
concerts  and  was  graciously  received  by 
Viennese  society.  He  studied  with  Haydn, 
with  the  contrapuntist  Albrechtsberger,  and 
with  the  Italian  Salieri.  He  was  a  brilliant 
player,  of  striking  exterior  and  strange  shy- 


Ludwig  van  Beethoven  81 

ness  in  his  manner.  Between  a  doting 
mother  and  a  dissipated  father,  the  formation 
of  his  character  had  been  neglected,  but  his 
musical  education  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
His  zeal  and  earnestness  enabled  him  in 
those  years  to  lay  the  foundation  for  all 
of  his  future  work.  At  first  frankly  imita- 
tive, following  his  teacher  Haydn  as  an 
unparalleled  example  for  the  purely  con- 
structive part  of  music,  using  the  sonatas 
of  K.  Ph.  Em.  Bach  as  models  of  pianistic 
style,  he  leaned  toward  the  virtuoso  and 
conventional  side  of  a  school  that  had  almost 
outlived  itself.  From  Haydn  he  learned 
the  treatment  and  development  of  themes, 
the  use  of  orchestral  colors.  The  first  piano 
sonatas,  trios  and  quartets,  a  septet  and 
the  two  first  symphonies,  with  other  works 
of  lesser  distinction,  belong  to  this  period. 

With  the  year  1801  a  decided  change 
becomes  noticeable.  Beethoven  has  begun 
to  find  himself.  Growing  deafness,  the 
first  signs  of  which  date  back  to  1796,  his 


82 Alia  Breve 

various  sentimental  quests,  too  often  end- 
ing in  deception,  are  bringing  their  in- 
fluence to  bear  on  his  state  of  mind.  He 
confides  the  precarious  state  of  his  health 
to  a  friend,  pledging  him  to  absolute  secrecy. 
A  passing  ray  of  sunshine  pierces  the  clouds: 
"My  life  is  a  little  pleasanter  since  I  get  again 
among  people.  You  cannot  conceive  how 
empty,  how  sad  my  existence  has  been 
these  last  two  years.  Like  a  spectre  my 
feeble  hearing  appeared  to  me.  I  fled  hu- 
manity, had  to  be  taken  for  a  misanthrope, 
so  far  from  being  one.  These  changes  are 
wrought  by  a  dear,  bewitching  little  maiden 
who  loves  me  and  whom  I  love.  After 
years,  again  a  few  happy  moments,  and 
for  the  first  time  I  feel  that — to  marry  could 
make  me  happy.     Unfortuntely  she  is   not 

of  my  station "     And  we  see  darkness 

returning  upon  the  scene  of  this  emotional 
drama.  His  malady  grows  worse.  He  seeks 
the  aid  of  doctors  and  medicasters;  treat- 
ments,   sound    or    quack,    are   of   no    avail. 


Ludwig  van  Beethoven  83 


His  mental  depression  reaches  its  culmination 
in  the  pathetic  testament  of  Heiligenstadt, 
October  1802;  walled  in  by  silence,  he  is 
like  one  entombed  alive.  The  care  of  needy 
relatives  adds  to  his  burdens;  and  when 
Napoleon's  brother  Jerome,  King  of  West- 
phalia, offers  him  a  well-paid  position,  he 
is  tempted  to  accept  it  and  go  to  Cassel. 
But  three  of  his  friends — Archduke  Rudolf, 
Prince  Lobkowitz  and  Count  Kinsky — agree 
to  pay  him  a  pension  for  life  in  order  to 
attach  the  first  musician  of  Europe  permantly 
to  Vienna.  For  Beethoven  has  become  an 
international  figure,  his  fame  has  spread. 
Feted  at  court  and  by  the  nobility,  treated 
with  princely  lavishness  by  his  friend  Lich- 
nowsky,  he  leads  the  expensive  life  of  a  fash- 
ionable and  idolized  artist.  Karl  Czerny, 
pupil  of  Beethoven,  gives  this  description  of 
the  master  at  work:  "While  composing,  Beet- 
hoven tried  his  music  often  at  the  piano, 
until  it  suited  him,  singing  all  the  while. 
His    voice    in    singing   was    dreadful."     But 


84 Alia  Breve 

sketch-books  accompany  him  everywhere; 
he  composes  in  the  street,  on  walks  through 
the  woods;  wherever  the  musical  idea  appears 
to  him,  he  seizes  it  and  puts  it  on  paper, 
later  subjecting  it  to  numberless  alterations, 
to  careful  development.  His  summers  are 
spent  in  the  country;  his  health  demands  a 
trip  to  the  baths  of  Teplitz,  in  Bohemia. 
Here  the  II  of -Compositeur  van  Beethoven 
meets  the  "old  and  incredibly  distinguished" 
Geheimrat  von  Goethe,  for  whose  drama 
"Egmont"  he  had  written  such  stirring 
music.  And  the  composer,  pet  of  princes, 
seems  democratic  to  the  point  of  rudeness, 
compared  with  the  artistocratic  and  affable 
poet,  true  friend  of  the  people,  who  willingly 
acknowledged  in  his  talks  with  Eckermann 
his  utter  ignorance  in  matters  musical. 
Beethoven's  admiration  for  Goethe  is  pro- 
found; "he  lives,  he  bids  us  all  to  live.  That 
is  why  one  can  set  him  to  music.  There  is 
nobody  so  easily  set  as  he;  only  I  am  not 
fond  of  writing  songs."     However,  conversa- 


Ludwig  van  Beethoven  85 

tion  with  the  deaf  musician  is  made  possible 
only  through  the  aid  of  note-books  that  he 
carries  with  him  everywhere,  and  into  which 
his  interlocutors  must  write  their  part  of  the 
dialogue.  Compassion  actuates  many  a 
woman's  tender  heart  to  show  him  the  ut- 
most kindness  and  affection.  But  none  of 
them  can  or  will  accept  the  honor  of  becoming 
his  wife.  In  1812,  the  year  of  the  Teplitz 
interview,  Beethoven  apostrophises  himself 
in  his  diary:  "You  are  not  permitted  to  be 
man — not  for  you,  only  for  others;  for  you 
there  is  no  happiness  but  in  yourself,  in  your 
Art."  Another  reve  passionnel  had  been 
shattered.  Which? — there  were  so  many. 
Beethoven's  enigmatic  "Immortal  Beloved" 
has  her  place  in  Elysium  with  Petrarca's 
Laura  and  Dante's  Beatrice. 

The  year  1814  sees  all  the  statesmen  of 
Europe  assembled  in  Vienna,  to  sit  in  high 
conclave  and  decide  the  fate  of  nations. 
Archduke  Rudolf,  in  person,  introduces  his 
beloved  master  to  the  crowned  visitors   who 


86  Alia  Breve 

bow  before  him  whom  Apollo  had  crowned. 
Without  a  work  of  Beethoven,  no  program 
of  importance  seems  complete.  He  is  not 
wanting  publishers:  "My  compositions  bring 
in  much,  and  I  can  say  that  I  have  more 
orders  than  it  is  possible  for  me  to  take  care 
of.  For  everything  I  write,  I  could  have 
six  or  seven  publishers,  if  I  wanted;  they  no 
longer  bargain  with  me,  I  demand  and  they 
pay."  And  yet  he  feels  "more  lonesome 
than  ever  in  this  big  city."  For,  after  all,  it 
is  not  the  music  written  with  his  heart's- 
blood  that  the  populace  is  whistling,  that 
publishers  are  clamoring  for,  but  some  of  his 
incidental  music  to  second-rate  plays,  mili- 
tary marches,  "Wellington's  Victory  at 
Vittoria,"  that  symphonic  poem  for  which 
the  composer  himself  "would  not  give  two- 
pence"! But  the  loneliness,  the  grief  and 
disillusion,  are  to  bring  only  riper  fruit. 

From  1815  to  his  death,  Beethoven  did 
not  write  nearly  as  much  as  he  composed 
in  his  second,  or  transitory  stage;  but  what 


Ludwig  van  Beethoven  87 

he  created  was  the  result  of  deeper  reflection, 
of  purer  and  more  personal  inspiration.  His 
ideals  of  friendship  and  his  religious  devotion 
finally  rise  from  beneath  the  sea  of  con- 
flicting emotions.  They  form  the  rocks 
upon  which  are  built  his  two  greatest  works: 
the  Symphony  with  chorus  and  the  Mass 
in  D.  It  was  given  to  Beethoven,  in  spite 
of  so  many  afflictions,  cares  and  disillusion- 
men  ts,  to  carry  his  creative  task  to  a  pinnacle 
which  overtowered  everything  that  had  gone 
before. 


VII 

WEBER 


C'est  une  ere  nouvelle  que  semble  soudainement 
proclamer  ce  melos  inconnu  jusqu'alors,  dont  la 
seule  harmonie  est  la  moelle  et  l'essence.  A 
l'examen  des  prodromes  et  des  suites,  on  y  re- 
connait  la  liberation  a  la  fois  la  plus  profonde  et 
la  plus  nette  constatable  dans  devolution  sonore 
depuis  Monteverdi  et  avant  Claude  Debussy. 

— Jean  Marnold 


VII 
CARL  MARIA  von  WEBER 

Weber  'shares  with  Schubert  the  honor 
of  having  founded  the  "romantic"  school 
of  music.  His  influence  as  a  composer, 
however,  has  not  affected  the  literature  for 
the  piano  as  much  as  it  has  furthered  the 
advancement  of  orchestral  technique.  And 
yet,  even  in  his  piano  compositions,  he  was 
an  innovator  and  proved  that  he  keenly  felt 
the  tendencies  of  his  time.  These  tendencies 
aimed  at  freeing  the  older  musical  forms 
from  their  restrictions,  forms  which  did  no 
longer  answer  the  increasing  demand  for 
brilliant  virtuosity  rather  than  erudite  work- 
manship, for  sensuous  melody  more  than 
contrapuntal  cleverness. 

The  course  which  the  development  of 
piano  music  has  taken,  was  not  infrequently 
decided  by  a  composer's  personal  style  of 
playing,  or  by  his  hand  as  much  as  by  his 

[91] 


92  Alia  Breve 

ear.  While  Chopin  is  perhaps  the  most 
pronounced  case  in  point,  Weber's  early 
training  as  a  pianist  (whose  teacher  Heusch- 
kel,  at  Hildburghausen,  taught  the  boy  of 
ten  to  use  his  left  hand  as  freely  and  in- 
dependently as  the  right)  led  him  eventually 
to  write  more  for  the  virtuoso  and  the  large 
public  than  for  players  of  chamber-music 
and  their  small  but  select  audience.  The 
classic  sonata  now  became  a  "Grand  Sonata" 
with  plenty  of  technical  fireworks;  instead 
of  suites,  fugues,  inventions  and  toccatas, 
we  find  the  significant  titles  of  Romance, 
Capriccio,  Potpourri;  and  with  the  "Char- 
acter Pieces"  we  revert  to  the  old  French 
Clavecinists  and  their  quaint,  imaginative 
titles,  minus  the  Frenchmen's  sober  elegance 
and  grace.  The  Waltz,  at  first  decried  as 
an  exhibition  of  vulgarity,  which  English 
travellers,  on  seeing  it  danced  in  Paris  at 
the  Tivoli  in  1802,  pronounced  "most 
shocking,"  began  to  oust  Gavot  and  Minuet. 
Weber's    "Invitation    to    the    Dance"    con- 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  93 

ferred  upon  it  civic  rights,  while  Chopin 
was  soon  to  give  it  a  patent  of  nobility. 
The  patriotic  fervor  of  1813,  uniting  all 
Germany  in  an  effort  to  overthrow 
Napoleonic  rule,  inspired  Weber  to  sing 
in  eloquent  and  stirring  music  the  aspira- 
tions of  an  awakened  national  conscious- 
ness. His  settings  of  words  by  the  gallant 
soldier-poet  Korner  literally  whipped  the 
people  into  frenzy.  With  peace  restored, 
Weber  entered  upon  that  part  of  his  work 
on  which  his  fame  is  chiefly  based — the 
"romantic"  opera.  His  interest  in  the  in- 
struments of  the  orchestra — shown  by  his 
various  compositions  for  horn,  bassoon, 
clarinet,  etc. — had  led  him  to  experiment 
in  this  domain  with  the  most  wonderful 
success.  He  was  the  first  musician  to  dis- 
cover the  "individuality"  of  certain  in- 
struments. His  operas,  "Der  Freischutz," 
"Euryanthe"  and  "Oberon" — founded  on 
folklore,  mediaeval  romance  and  fairy  tale — ■ 
ushered   in   a   new   era   of   dramatic   music. 


94 Alia  Breve 

The  overtures  to  these  three  works  are 
still  the  show  pieces  of  every  virtuoso- 
orchestra  and  conductor. 

Weber's  short  life  of  forty  years  was 
spent,  from  birth  to  death,  in  almost  con- 
stant wanderings.  Born  December  18,  1786, 
at  Eutin,  in  Holstein,  the  son  of  an  ec- 
centric, erratic  father,  who  travelled  from 
town  to  town  as  manager  of  opera-troupes, 
he  was  practically  brought  up  in  the  wings 
of  the  stage,  or  in  the  lumbering  post-coach. 
When  the  boy  began  to  show  talent  and 
interest  for  music,  his  father  saw  to  it  that 
Carl  had  occasional  lessons  in  piano  playing; 
but  not  until  1796  did  he  seriously  study. 
This  was  when  the  father's  business  detained 
the  family  for  some  time  at  Hildburghausen. 
The  next  year  the  Webers  migrated  to 
Salzburg.  Here  Michael  Haydn,  younger 
brother  of  the  great  Josef,  instructed  the 
boy  in  harmony  and  counterpoint.  Before 
the  year  was  over,  the  youngster  published 
his  first  opus,  consisting  in  "Six  Fughettas." 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber 95 

The  next  year,  1798,  was  spent  in  Munich. 
Carl  studied  with  the  excellent  organist 
and  pianist  Kalcher.  He  also  became  in- 
terested in  lithography,  a  process  just  then 
discovered  by  Aloys  Senefelder,  and  learned 
to  print  his  music  as  well  as  to  compose  it. 

The  wanderings  began  again.  They 
led  this  time  to  Vienna,  the  center  of  all 
musical  life  in  those  days.  Weber,  how- 
ever, was  not  apprenticed  to  one  of  the 
"big  men"  then  living,  such  as  the  aged 
Josef  Haydn,  or  the  illustrious  Salieri;  nor 
to  the  struggling  Beethoven.  Abbe  Vogler 
became  his  teacher,  a  man  of  indubitable, 
though  unbalanced,  gifts;  he  was  half 
scientist,  half  adventurer,  yet  of  real  musical 
sensitiveness,  endowed  with  an  inventive 
and  analytical  turn  of  mind.  Weber,  in 
later  years,  acknowledged  unreservedly  his 
indebtedness   to  Vogler's   teaching. 

From  1804  to  1806,  young  Weber  was 
orchestra  conductor  at  the  theatre  in 
Breslau,    where    he    had    early    and    ample 


96 Alia  Breve 

opportunity  to  familiarize  himself  with 
orchestral  instruments.  Prince  Eugene  of 
Wiirttemberg,  residing  most  of  the  time  at 
his  Silesian  estate,  "Carlsruhe,"  engaged 
Weber  as  conductor  of  his  private  orchestra. 
The  armies  of  Napoleon,  which  were  in- 
vading Prussia,  cut  short  his  stay  in  Silesia. 
Prince  Eugene  joined  his  regiment  in  1807, 
and  sent  his  private  composer  to  Stuttgart 
with  a  recommendation  to  his  brother, 
Prince  Ludwig.  Weber  became  Ludwig's 
secretary;  it  was  his  irksome  task  to  negoti- 
ate the  affairs  of  his  dissolute  and  extrav- 
agant master,  besides  having  to  care  for  his 
old  and  ever  more  irresponsible  parent, 
whose  complicated  money  matters,  in  1810, 
led  to  a  public  scandal,  and  to  the  expulsion 
of  father  and  son  from  Wiirttemberg  "by 
order  of  the  King."  The  fugitives  went  to 
Mannheim,  where  Carl  found  a  lifelong 
friend  in  Gottfried  Weber,  an  able  lawyer 
and    talented    musician;    and    Carl's    father 


Carl  Maria  von  Weber  97 

found  in  Gottfried's  house  a  refuge  till  he 
died,  in  1812. 

Weber  now  visited  Darmstadt,  where 
his  teacher  Vogler  was  then  residing.  In 
1811  he  returned  to  Munich,  and  later  went 
on  a  concert  tour  to  Switzerland.  In  1812, 
he  set  out  to  conquer  Berlin,  and  was  most 
cordially  received  by  public  and  musicians 
of  the  Prussian  capital.  He  entered  the 
employ  of  the  Duke  of  Gotha,  but  was  soon 
offered  the  conductorship  of  the  theatre- 
orchestra  in  Prague,  a  position  eagerly 
accepted,  and  successfully  filled  until  he 
followed  a  call  to  Dresden,  in  1816,  where 
the  King  of  Saxony  engaged  him  "for  life" 
as  master  of  the  royal  chapel  and  director 
of  the  German  opera. 

The  years  in  Prague  were  largely  filled 
with  the  sound  of  cannon  and  with  battle- 
hymns.  Still,  Weber  wrote  during  that 
period  several  operas  which  gained  him  a 
growing  surety  of  touch  and  mastery  of  his 
material.     In   Dresden   his   duties   at   court 


98 Alia  Breve 

called  frequently  for  the  composition  of 
cantatas,  masses  and  other  music,  destined 
to  embellish  a  royal  fete,  celebrate  a  princely 
wedding,  or  heighten  the  impressiveness  of 
a  special  church  function.  Weber  felt  now 
that  he  had  obtained  a  secure  position,  and 
married  the  singer  Carolina  Brand,  in 
November,  1817.  He  began  work  on  "Der 
Freischiitz,"  which  was  first  produced  in 
Berlin,  on  June  18,  1821,  and  met  with 
instant  and  unparalleled  success.  Encour- 
aged by  his  good  fortune,  he  immediately 
started  on  another  opera,  "Euryanthe," 
which  was  written  for  an  enterprising  man- 
ager at  Vienna.  The  composition  progressed 
only  slowly,  as  it  was  interrupted  by  many 
royal  "commands"  for  one  or  another  occa- 
sion. Hence  the  " Jubelouvertiire"  "Fest- 
musik"  "Huldigungscantate"  and  more 
works  of  that  nature.  Finally,  "Euryanthe" 
was  given  its  first  performance  at  Vienna, 
on  October  25,  1823.  The  next  day  the 
• composer  wrote  to  his  wife:     My  reception, 


Ca rl  Maria  von  Weber 99 

when  I  appeared  in  the  orchestra,  was  the 
most  enthusiastic  and  brilliant  that  one  could 
imagine.  There  was  no  end  to  it."  Yet,  the 
playing  and  singing,  on  that  occasion,  is  said 
to  have  been  not  without  faults.  At  its 
first  hearing  in  Berlin,  the  following  year, 
the  overture  fell  flat. 

Weber's  constitution  had  never  been 
strong;  his  unstable  mode  of  life  had  not 
improved  it;  now  his  health  began  to  fail 
rapidly.  He  was  honored  by  a  commission 
from  London  to  write  an  opera  for  Covent 
Garden.  As  subject  he  was  to  take  "Faust" 
or  "Oberon";  he  chose  the  latter.  Working 
with  feverish  ardor,  he  completed  the  opera 
in  a  short  time.  "Oberon,"  in  spite  of  its 
involved  libretto,  was  politely  acclaimed 
when  London  heard  it  for  the  first  time  on 
April  12,  1826,  conducted  by  the  ailing 
composer  in  person.  Greatly  enfeebled  by 
his  exertions  and  his  journey,  Weber  passed 
away  in  the  night  of  June  5,  1826.  He  was 
buried  in  England;  but  eighteen  years  later. 


100 Alia  Breve   

his  ashes  were  transferred  to  Dresden.  The 
solemn  memorial  services  were  directed  by 
the  young  conductor  of  the  Dresden  orches- 
tra, who  was  none  other  than  Richard 
Wagner.  It  was  a  momentous  day  in  the 
history  of  German  music,  when  the  heir  to 
Weber's  genius  paid  homage  to  his  great 
precursor's  glory! 


VIII 

SCHUBERT 


Ich  singe  wie  der  Vogel  singt, 
Der  in  den  Zweigen  wohnet. 

— J.  W.  von  Goethe 


VIII 

FRANZ  PETER  SCHUBERT 

Considering  the  difference  between  the 
works  of  Beethoven  and  Schubert,  it  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  they  were  contem- 
poraries and  that  the  younger  of  the  two,  born 
twenty-seven  years  after  Beethoven,  sur- 
vived the  older  master  only  by  twenty 
months.  The  whole  period  of  Schubert's 
creative  activity  does  not  extend  over  more 
than  sixteen  years;  and  when  he  died,  at 
the  age  of  thirty-one — an  age  at  which  other 
mortals  have  hardly  begun  their  lifework — 
he  left  not  only  an  astoundingly  large 
number  of  compositions,  but  by  the  very 
quality  and  nature  of  these  compositions  he 
had  sounded  a  new  note  in  music  that  was 
to  herald  the  dawn  of  "romanticism." 

The  origin  of  Schubert,  born  January  31, 
1797,  the  son  of  a  poor  schoolteacher,  and 
the    circumstances    in    which    the    boy   was 

[103] 


104 Alia  Breve 

brought  up,  may  not  have  been  altogether 
without  influence  upon  the  "romantic"  char- 
acter of  his  music.  Schubert  was  the  first 
among  the  great  masters  living  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  nineteenth  century,  who  were  not 
either  born  within  the  purlieus  of  a  palace 
or  reared  under  the  patronage  of  a  court, 
secular  or  churchly.  His  family  was  of 
common  stock,  and  his  life  passed  in  sur- 
roundings of  plain  and  simple  "homeliness." 
No  king  or  kaiser,  much  less  a  music-pub- 
lisher, encouraged  his  beginnings  with  com- 
missions. What  he  wrote,  he  composed 
spontaneously,  spurred  by  the  extraordinary 
fertility  of  his  genius,  and  with  an  ear  bent 
rather  to  the  song  of  the  people  than  to  the 
favorite  distraction  of  princes.  It  is  not  in- 
significant that  Schubert  should  have  written 
so  many  waltzes,  ecossaises  (schottisches), 
polonaises,  handler  (country-dances),  and 
Singspiele  (operettas),  and  that  a  great  num- 
ber of  his  songs  early  achieved  a  "popular" 
success.     Nor  is  it  surprising  that  he  excelled 


Franz  Peter  Schubert 105 

particularly  as  a  writer  of  songs  and  became 
the  originator  of  the  modern  "Lied." 

The  fructifying  influence  of  one  art  on 
another  is  constantly  in  evidence,  though 
the  roles  are  often  interchanged.  Schubert 
found  vital  inspiration  in  the  wonderful 
song-literature  that  German  poets  like 
Goethe,  Kerner,  Riickert,  Moricke,  Eichen- 
dorff,  and  young  Heinrich  Heine,  had  brought 
to  an  unprecedented  height.  The  "roman- 
ticism" of  poetry  was  transplanted  into  music. 
And  there  are  several  reasons  why  Schubert 
should  have  been  responsible  for  the  trans- 
planting. First  of  all,  his  sensitive  nature, 
his  love  for  poetry,  his  kinship  with  a 
movement  that  was  breaking  away  from  a 
stiff  and  academic  classicism,  become  stale 
and  arid,  caused  him  to  embrace  with  open 
arms  this  "new"  creed  which  forsook  the 
gods  of  Greece  and  Rome  for  the  nymphs  of 
native  rivers  and  familiar  woodland  fairies; 
which  replaced  the  "refined"  and  "pompous" 
speech  of  a   declining  century  of  autocrats 


106 Alia  Breve 

with  the  more  natural  expressions  of  simple 
human  sentiments,  voiced  and  understood  by 
people  who  had,  directly  or  indirectly,  tasted 
of  revolution  and  democracy.  The  second 
reason  may  be  found  in  the  fact  that  Schubert 
was  practically  self-taught,  as  far  as  compo- 
sition was  concerned,  and  that  his  sense  of 
musical  shape,  or  his  "architectural"  ability, 
had  not  been  sufficiently  developed.  There- 
fore his  longer  compositions  are  not  always 
free  from  lengthy  repetitions  and  fillings  that 
a  more  disciplined  appreciation  of  form 
might  have  avoided.  But  the  short, 
strophic,  song-text  was  the  ideal  basis  upon 
which  to  build  his  little  masterpieces;  and, 
in  the  course  of  time,  the  knowledge  gained 
in  the  setting  of  "Lieder"  benefited  him 
greatly  in  the  construction  of  his  shorter 
instrumental  numbers.  Schubert's  unerring 
power  of  musical  characterization,  on  the 
other  hand,  his  "lyricism,"  inborn  and 
unexcelled,  enabled  him  to  choose  poems  of 
widely    divergent   styles,    and    to    set   them 


Franz  Peter  Schubert  107 

all,  with  very  few  exceptions,  to  a  music 
which  to  this  day  has  lost  nothing  of  its 
dramatic  life  or  enchanting  melodic  appeal. 
Full  of  harmonic  innovations,  of  modulatory 
departures  that  still  retain  the  zest  of 
modernity,  his  songs,  his  piano-pieces,  his 
chamber-music,  immortal  strains  from  his 
symphonic  compositions — this  wealth  of 
originality  makes  one  wonder  what  the 
world  lost  in  his  premature  death. 

The  story  of  Schubert's  life  is  all  too 
brief,  nor  is  it  marked  by  any  events  that 
add  to  it  high  lights.  Born  in  a  suburb  ol 
Vienna,  the  semi-rural  surroundings  of  his 
infancy  always  attracted  him.  Having 
given  proof  of  precocious  musical  talent, 
and  being  endowed  with  a  pleasing  voice, 
he  became  a  choirboy  when  eight  years  old, 
and  in  1808  he  was  admitted  into  the  choir 
of  the  imperial  chapel.  He  received  his 
education  at  an  institution  connected  with 
the  choir,  where  his  principal  music-teacher 
was  Antonio  Salieri,  director  of  the  imperial 


108 Alia  Breve 

opera  and  chapel,  at  one  time  teacher  of 
Beethoven,  a  polite  courtier  and  polished 
mediocrity,  who  when  young  had  enjoyed 
the  friendship  of  Gluck,  and  now  only  enjoys 
the  doubtful  distinction  of  being  known  as 
Mozart's  jealous  and  intriguing  enemy.  But 
Schubert  could  learn  very  little  from  a 
musical  style  that  lacked  in  the  essentials  of 
life  and  truth.  His  keen  sense  of  harmonic 
possibilities,  his  beautiful  discoveries  in  the 
field  of  enharmonic  modulation,  soon  taught 
him  to  follow  his  own  paths.  He  left  the 
choir  in  1813,  and  next  year  became  assis- 
tant to  his  father,  the  schoolmaster.  Of 
figure  stubby  and  thickset,  not  overcareful 
in  his  dress,  given  to  the  convivial  pleasures 
of  pot  and  glass,  he  was  at  heart  an 
Arcadian. 

After  three  years  of  teaching,  he  decided 
to  devote  his  entire  time  to  composition. 
Several  of  his  earliest  and  finest  songs  had 
attracted  considerable  attention,  and  Schu- 
bert hoped  that   he   would   find    the   same 


Franz  Peter  Schubert  109 

appreciation  for  his  bigger  instrumental 
works.  But  therein  he  was  to  be  cruelly 
undeceived.  Ambitious  to  try  his  hand  at 
larger  forms,  he  wrote  symphony  after  sym- 
phony, and  selected,  with  rare  lack  of  dis- 
crimination, one  unpractical  or  ineffective 
opera-libretto  after  another.  Interspersed 
between  these  more  voluminous  works  are 
the  songs  (numbering  about  six  hundred  in 
all),  many  of  which  were  written  at  a 
moment's  inspiration  upon  the  first  reading 
of  the  text;  others,  like  his  famous  setting 
of  Goethe's  "Erlking,"  were  the  outcome 
of  various  sketches,  discarded  or  painstak- 
ingly rewritten. 

An  observation  made  by  a  discerning 
English  amateur,  at  London,  in  1833,  is  of 
interest:  "At  Mr.  Wessel's  German  soiree  I 
heard  some  songs  by  Shobert  [sic],  a  new 
author.  His  'Erl  King,'  sung  by  Mme. 
Schroeder,  and  accompanied  on  the  piano- 
forte by  Mme.  Dulken,  certainly  was  a 
most  terrific  thing  of  its  kind.     The  alarm- 


110 Alia  Breve 

ing  intonation  of  the  vocalist,  and  the 
awful  thunder  which  the  pianist  threw  into 
the  bass,  had  a  dramatic  effect  purely 
German."  And  yet  the  accompanist,  that 
evening,  was  among  the  best  of  her  time; 
the  singer,  among  the  greatest  of  all  times. 
What  would  the  Englishman  have  said  to 
Schubert's  "Der  Atlas,"  or  "Gruppe  aus 
dem  Tartarus,"  or  any  of  the  other  grand  and 
"terrific"  songs  so  studiously  avoided  by  our 
timid  program-makers? 

Schubert's  charming,  songful  piano  music, 
the  shorter  pieces  in  particular,  furnished  the 
direct  pattern  of  Mendelssohn's  "Songs  with- 
out Words,"  and  of  Schumann's  "Novel- 
lettes";  and  his  "Hungarian  Divertissement," 
composed  during  his  stay  in  Hungary  in  1818 
as  music-teacher  in  the  family  of  Count 
Johann  Esterhazy,  was,  in  a  way,  the  model 
for  the  many  "Rhapsodies,"  Hungarian  or 
of  other  national  flavors,  that  were  to  follow 
him.  He  vainly  tried  to  obtain  employment 
worthy  of  his  talents.     Pursued  by  ill  luck, 


Franz  Peter  Schubert  111 

plagued  by  failing  health,  ignored  by  the 
distributors  of  lucrative  positions,  making 
but  a  meagre  living,  he  was  at  least  blessed 
with  a  few  faithful  friends  and  staunch  be- 
lievers in  his  greatness,  and  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  one  public  appearance,  in 
the  Spring  of  1828,  at  a  successful  concert 
devoted  to  his  own  compositions. 

But  the  Wanderer"  was  preparing  to 
leave  again.  The  parting  hour  was  near. 
Thus  has  Sir  George  Grove  set  down  the 
last  moments:  Schubert,  turning  round, 
clutched  at  the  wall  with  his  poor,  tired 
hands,  and  said  in  a  slow,  earnest  voice, 
Here,  here  is  my  end.'  At  three  in  the 
afternoon  of  Wednesday,  November  19, 
1828,  he  breathed  his  last,  and  his  simple, 
earnest  soul  took  its  flight  from  the  world. 
There  never  has  been  one  like  him,  and 
there  will  never  be  another." 


IX 

BERLIOZ 


Berlioz'  Notenzeichen  sind  im  Klavierauszuge 
eingetrocknete  Mumien,  dagegen  gemahnen  die 
Partituren  dieses  Meisters  an  die  Zauberbucher 
des  Prosper  Alpanus  im  Klein  Zaches,  darin  Kopf 
und  Hals,  Punkte,  Pausen,  Notenschliissel  und 
Taktstriche  ein  geisterhaftes  Leben  fiihren. 

— Hugo  Wolf 


IX 

HECTOR   BERLIOZ 

Berlioz  left  a  detailed  account  of  his 
life,  begun  in  1848  at  London,  and  carried 
down  to  New  Year's  Day  of  1865.  We  also 
have  much  of  his  personal  correspondence. 
Letters  and  autobiographies  are  perhaps  the 
most  interesting  part  of  literature.  But 
autobiographies  are  not  always  trustworthy 
documents.  Only  a  few  are  the  calm,  en- 
lightened review  of  facts,  the  dispassionate 
probing  into  causes  and  effects,  the  enter- 
taining and  instructive  painting  of  characters 
and  customs  which  are  no  more.  Fre- 
quently, such  accounts  are  intended  as 
apologies  or  glorifications  of  the  writer, 
and  as  posthumous  attacks  upon  dead  ad- 
versaries. The  Memoirs  of  Berlioz  suffer 
from  this  fault  to  a  not  inconsiderable,  but 
highly  excusable,  degree.  Godlike  as  were 
his  aspirations,  his  soul  was  human;  he  was 

f  115  1 


116 Alia  Breve 

misunderstood  and  maligned  in  his  youth, 
grew  old  in  disappointment  and  vexation. 
He  had  the  morbid  need  of  self-revealment. 
That  he  should  have  used  the  pen  so  ex- 
tensively, and  often  caustically,  in  his  own 
defence,  is  but  natural;  nor  is  it  to  be  re- 
gretted by  posterity,  for  his  pen  was  brilliant. 
Hector  Berlioz  was  born  December  11, 
1803,  at  Cote-Saint-Andre,  a  small  place 
near  Lyons,  in  the  south  of  France.  His 
father  was  a  physician,  intelligent  and  broad- 
minded,  absorbed  in  his  profession.  His 
mother  was  a  fanatic  and  intolerant  Catholic. 
Berlioz  was  ever  a  victim  of  his  shortcomings, 
which  were  the  result  of  parental  short- 
sightedness. Although  he  did  not  fail  to 
give  early  signs  of  musical  talent  and  tempera- 
mental impulsiveness,  his  technical  train- 
ing and  moral  discipline  were  vague  and  in- 
effective. He  learned  to  play  the  flute  and 
guitar,  after  a  fashion,  and  was  brought  up 
with  the  idea  that  he  should  end  an  honorable 
country  doctor. 


Hector  Berlioz  117 


He  was  sent  to  Paris  to  study  medicine. 
The  French  capital,  in  the  first  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century,   was   still  reverberating 
with  the  clangor  of  the  revolution  and  the 
wars  of  Bonaparte.     New  governments  fol- 
lowed    each     other     in     quick     succession. 
Revolutionary  and  bellicose  was  the  romantic 
spirit  that  possessed  the  literary  and  artistic 
generation    of    the    day.      Young    Berlioz, 
ardent  and  exalted,  was  suddenly  brought 
face  to  face  with  a  realization  of  his  secret 
dreams.     He  was  swept  off  his  feet.     Having 
drunk  from  the  pure  essence  of  Gluck,  Beet- 
hoven and  Weber,  he  could  no  longer  stand 
the  heavy  atmosphere  of  the  dissecting  room. 
He   discarded    his    books   on    anatomy   and 
pathology    for    treatises    on    harmony    and 
counterpoint. 

Berlioz  was  twenty-two  years  old  when 
he  entered  the  Paris  Conservatory  and 
became  a  pupil  of  Reicha,  after  having 
taken  a  few  lessons  from  Lesueur.  Con- 
spicuous in  dress  and  manners,  his  fine  head 


118  Alia  Breve 


crowned  with  a  leonine  crop  of  hair  that 
quivered  like  aspen  leaves  at  his  impassionate 
gestures,  he  could  not  help  attracting  the 
attention  of  every  one.  Notwithstanding 
the  remonstrances  of  his  father,  and  the 
actual  curses  of  his  bigoted  mother,  to  whom 
music  was  an  agent  of  the  devil,  he  pursued 
his  studies.  He  suffered  want,  earning  a 
pittance  by  singing  in  the  chorus  of  a  third- 
rate  theatre,  and  contracted  debts  in  order  to 
perform  the  works  he  was  now  beginning  to 
compose.  These  works  inflamed  the  younger 
and  progressive  element  with  wild  en- 
thusiasm; they  scandalized  the  fogies.  Fetis, 
the  studious  musicographer  and  Berlioz's 
lifelong  enemy,  wrote  in  1835,  after  some  of 
the  composer's  greatest  and  most  magni- 
ficent orchestral  pieces  had  already  been 
heard  in  public:  "According  to  my  belief,  the 
things  that  M.  Berlioz  wiites  do  not  belong 
to  what  I  am  accustomed  to  consider  as 
music,  and  I  am  absolutely  certain  that  the 
conditions  of  this  art  are  unknown  to  him." 


Hector  Berlioz  119 


Fetis  saw  only  the  flaws,  and  was  blind  to 
the  light  of  genius.  But  flaws  there  were, 
and  even  Schumann,  who  had  been  the 
loud  and  staunch  defender  of  the  younger 
Berlioz,  could  write  in  later  years  to  the 
historian  Ambros:  "Time  makes  us  severer. 
In  some  of  Berlioz's  recent  works  there  are 
things  which  one  can't  forgive  a  man  of 
forty." 

With  due  allowance  made  for  such 
blemishes,  there  remains  the  work  of  a 
giant,  an  innovator,  without  whom  music 
would  have  lost  much  that  was  fructifying; 
there  remain  the  vast  conceptions  of  an 
inspired  brain,  hewed  in  large  masses  of 
tone;  there  remain,  above  all,  the  creation  of 
the  modern  orchestra  and  the  establishing  of 
the  "program"  symphony,  two  things  which 
his  contemporaries  and  successors  eagerly 
appropriated.  Heine  called  him  '  the  lark 
with  eagle  wings." 

Only  after  several  attempts  did  he  suc- 
ceed,   in    December,    1830,    in    winning    the 


120 Alia  Breve 

Rome  Prize  with  a  cantata  sufficiently 
academic  in  style  to  pass  the  judges.  This 
was  three  years  after  his  first  great  emotional 
crisis,  brought  on  by  an  Irish  actress,  Harriet 
Smithson,  who  gave  English  performances  of 
Shakespeare  in  Paris.  Berlioz  greatly  ad- 
mired Shakespeare,  as  he  did  Goethe  and 
Byron.  He  lost  his  head  completely  over  his 
Ophelia,  walking  the  streets  day  and  night 
like  one  demented.  A  grande  passion  was 
essential  to  his  nature,  and  to  accelerate 
creation  nothing  served  him  so  well  as  love 
fulfilled  or  unrequited.  The  inapproach- 
able Miss  had  passed  from  the  scene,  how- 
ever, when  Berlioz  set  out  for  his  sojourn  in 
the  Eternal  City,  as  a  pensioner  of  the  French 
Government.  It  was  then  Marie  (Camille) 
Mocke,  a  youthful  and  coquettish  pianist, 
who  had  captivated  his  heart.  He.  tore  him- 
self away  and  arrived  at  the  Villa  Medicis 
about  the  middle  of  March,  1831. 

When  by  the  first  of  April  he  was  still 
without  word  from  Marie,  he  fled  from  Rome 


Hector  Berlioz  121 


and  got  as  far  as  Florence,  where  he  fell  ill. 
Upon  learning  that  Marie  had  meanwhile 
married  M.  Pleyel,  he  swore  vengeance, 
meditated  the  murder  of  the  faithless  one, 
and  instantly  proceeded  on  his  homicidal 
errand.  But  he  had  a  timely  change  of 
mind,  was  conscience-stricken,  simulated  an 
attempt  at  suicide,  wrote  to  Horace  Vernet 
— the  director  of  the  Villa  Medicis — and 
received  a  paternal  and  forgiving  answer. 
He  returned  to  Rome,  but  never  liked  the  city 
very  much.  In  1832  he  left  the  Villa,  not 
without  having  made  love  to  Vernet's 
daughter,  for  whose  hand  he  asked  Madame 
Vernet  in  a  letter  dispatched  as  soon  as  he 
arrived  in  Paris. 

But  here  an  unexpected  discovery  gave 
events  a  different  turn.  He  found  that 
Harriet  Smithson  was  again  in  town,  and  the 
old  fire  flamed  up  more  violently  than  ever. 
Not  with  ordinary  wooing  did  he  want  to  win 
her,  but  by  the  impact  with  his  "Fantastic 
Symphony"  (first   performed   in   December, 


122  Alia  Breve 

1830,  and  then  revised),  a  tremendous  work 
for  those  days,  and  reflecting  with  dramatic 
vividness  the  emotions — real  and  imagined 
— that  his  love  for  Harriet  had  awakened. 
Miss  Smithson  heard  the  symphony  at  a 
concert  on  December  9,  1832.  The  com- 
poser's magnetic  personality,  the  impression 
produced  by  his  remarkable  work  on  an 
audience  which,  though  it  contained  enough 
hostile  reactionaries,  gave  overwhelming  signs 
of  its  admiration,  combined  to  achieve  the 
desired  effect.  After  parental  objections 
were  overridden,  the  marriage  finally  took 
place  on  October  3,  1833.  It  was  not  a 
happy  union.  The  wife  grew  more  and  more 
jealous,  the  husband  disillusioned.  Con- 
ditions became  intolerable  and  a  separation 
followed.  In  1843,  after  so  many  artistic, 
pecuniary  and  domestic  misadventures, 
Berlioz  left  Paris  for  a  concert  tour  through 
Germany,  Austria  and  Russia.  He  was 
accorded  everywhere  the  warm  and  intelli- 


Hector  Berlioz  123 


gent    reception    that    his    compatriots    had 
refused  him. 

Liszt,  in  particular,  espoused  his  cause 
and  performed  his  works  when  called  to 
direct  the  musical  affairs  of  Weimar.  His 
operas  were  heard  in  Germany  before  France 
knew  them.  But  it  is  not  as  an  opera  com- 
poser that  Berlioz  excelled.  Neither  the 
Shakespearean  "Beatrice  and  Benedict"  nor 
the  romantic  "Benvenuto  Cellini"  have 
found  a  permanent  place  in  the  operatic 
repertory.  "The  Trojans,"  suggested  by 
Virgil's  tale  of  iEneas,  fared  no  better.  The 
dramatic  symphony  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
(1839)  constituted  a  departure;  as  novel  as 
the  form,  as  characteristic  are  the  contents  of 
this  splendid  work.  All  things  considered, 
it  ranks  perhaps  highest  among  the  com- 
poser's creations.  His  early  reading  had 
furnished  the  inspirational  germ  for  most 
of  his  later  compositions.  Shakespearean 
was  the  subject  for  the  overture  "King 
Lear,"    for    the    orchestral    fantasy    "The 


124 Alia  Breve 

Tempest."  We  find  Byron's  glowing 
flame  in  the  symphonic  poem  "Harold  in 
Italy"  (1834)  and  the  "Corsair"  overture. 
Goethe  is  responsible  for  "The  Damnation  of 
Faust"  (1846),  the  work  that  did  most  to 
earn  the  composer  posthumous  laurels. 

Berlioz,  a  child  of  his  age,  was  chivalrous. 
When  Harriet  was  dying  in  1854,  his  affection 
for  her  was  still  alive.  As  he  had  sung  his  love 
in  his  "Fantastic  Symphony,"  where  the 
obsessing  idea  of  the  beloved  had  taken  musi- 
cal shape  in  an  equally  obsessing  theme — the 
first  true  specimen  of  the  Leitmotiv — so  did  he 
mourn  for  her  in  his  funeral  music  of  Ophelia. 
Death,  in  the  soul-searching  days  of  ro- 
manticism, was  a  solemn  and  spectacular 
thing.  No  one  represented  it  more  dra- 
matically than  did  Berlioz  in  his  Requiem 
Mass  (1837).  It  is,  with  the  "Fantastic 
Symphony,"  Berlioz's  most  astonishing 
achievement  in  orchestral  technique.  His 
instinct  for  unusual  and  graphic  instrumenta- 
tion   was    infallible.     His    treatise    on    the 


Hector  Berlioz  125 

instruments  of  the  orchestra  is  the  work  of  a 
shrewd  analyst,  deft  craftsman  and  sensitive 
poet. 

Berlioz  had  found,  early  in  life,  that  his 
literary  and  critical  gifts  were  more  de- 
pendable breadwinners  than  was  his  musical 
genius.  As  a  critic  on  several  newspapers, 
notably  Le  Journal  des  Debats,  which  he 
joined  in  1838,  he  became  a  power  and  a 
sort  of  oracle.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  avow 
his  antipathy  to  Wagner.  Seldom  did  he 
set  down  anything  but  his  candid  opinion. 
He  never  used  his  influence  for  selfish  ends. 
His  sharp  wit,  his  enlightening  observations, 
make  good  reading  in  a  day  when  most  of 
the  works  and  persons  that  formed  the 
objects  of  his  criticisms  live  only  by  the 
praise  or  censure  he  bestowed  on  them. 
Having  survived  a  second  wife,  having 
buried  a  son  of  his  first  marriage,  and  also 
his  sister,  he  was  left  solitary,  a  prey  to  his 
dejected    moods.     He    died    on    March    8, 


126 Alia  Breve 

1869.  A  grand  and  pathetic  figure  was  this 
hyper-emotional  dreamer  and  combative 
originator. 


X 

MENDELSSOHN 


Whatever  be  the  reason,  it  is  commonly  ob- 
served that  the  early  writers  are  in  possession  of 
nature,  and  their  followers  of  art;  that  the  first 
excel  in  strength  and  invention,  and  the  latter  in 
elegance  and  refinement. 

— Dr.  Samuel  Johnson 


X 

FELIX    MENDELSSOHN-BARTHOLDY 

The  lives  of  so  many  great  composers  are 
one  long  record  of  struggle,  poverty,  and  dis- 
appointment, that  Felix  Mendelssohn's  career 
would  be  remarkable  if  for  no  other  reason 
than  the  advantages,  the  affluence  and  the 
success  which  he  enjoyed  during  his  lifetime. 
His  family  was  Jewish,  and  of  humblest 
origin.  His  grandfather,  the  eminent 
philosopher  Moses  Mendelssohn,  when 
young,  had  still  to  suffer  under  the  humiliat- 
ing restrictions  which,  until  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  actually  segregated  all 
Jews  in  the  towns  of  Europe  from  the  normal 
life  of  the  community.  This  sage  and  eman- 
cipator gradually  conquered  the  prejudices  of 
the  Christians  and  the  bigotry  of  his  own 
people;  he  made  a  position  for  himself  in 
German  literature,  was  the  close  friend  of  the 
poet  and  dramatist  Lessing,  and  practically 

(129] 


130 Alia  Breve 

opened  to  his  race  the  door  that  gave  it  access 
into  modern  society.  Abraham  (the  second 
son  of  Moses  and  father  of  Felix),  who  later 
in  his  life  said  laughingly:  "When  a  boy,  I 
was  known  as  the  son  of  my  father;  now  I 
am  known  as  the  father  of  my  son!"  pos- 
sessed qualities  which,  though  peculiarly 
Jewish,  entitle  him  to  not  a  little  of  the 
glory  that  distinguished  the  Mendelssohn 
family;  and  these  qualities  were  precisely 
those  of  an  excellent  son  and  an  ideal  father. 
Abraham  was  clerk  in  the  banking  house 
of  Fould  in  Paris,  when  he  married  Lea 
Salomon,  the  daughter  of  a  rich  merchant  in 
Hamburg.  He  became  associated  with  his 
elder  brother,  who  conducted  a  banking  and 
brokerage  business  in  Hamburg.  It  was  the 
time  of  the  Napoleonic  invasion.  War  means 
the  destruction  of  much  property;  it  is  also 
the  germ  of  new  fortunes.  Abraham  settled 
with  his  family  in  Berlin,  in  1811;  he  was  a 
shrewd  business  man,  and  the  banking  house 
which  he  founded  is  still  in  existence,  and  is 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy         131 

still  conducted  by  his  descendants.  Abraham 
made  excellent  use  of  his  riches  in  cultivat- 
ing arts  and  letters,  which  had  played  such 
great  part  in  the  life  of  his  father.  His 
tastes  were  shared  by  his  wife,  a  gifted 
musician,  who  spoke  several  languages,  and 
read  the  old  Greek  and  Latin  authors  in  the 
original. 

It  was  into  this  atmosphere  of  ease  and 
culture  that  Felix  was  born  at  Hamburg,  Feb- 
ruary 3,  1809.  Both  he  and  his  sister  Fanny, 
four  years  his  elder,  showed  early  signs  of 
great  musical  talent.  Their  mother  gave 
them  their  first  music-lessons;  but  soon  they 
were  ready  to  receive  instruction  from  the 
best  teachers  that  the  father's  money  could 
procure.  C.  F.  Zelter,  the  friend  of  Goethe, 
was  chosen  to  teach  Felix  composition.  The 
boy  made  wonderful  progress.  In  the  art- 
loving  home  of  the  Mendelssohns,  all 
musicians  and  artists  of  renown  that  lived 
in  or  passed  through  Berlin,  convened  for 
the   famous    Sunday   evening   concerts,    the 


132  Alia  Breve 

program  containing  always  one  or  more  com- 
positions by  the  young  prodigy.  In  1821, 
Zelter  took  Felix  on  a  visit  to  Goethe,  at 
Weimar,  where  the  boy  played  and  ex- 
temporized to  the  great  delight  of  the  Grand 
Old  Man.  Felix  had  inherited  his  grand- 
father's gift  of  expression,  and  the  letters  of 
his  youth  already  give  vivid  accounts  of  his 
experiences.  Throughout  his  life  he  kept  up 
a  lively  correspondence  with  his  relatives 
and  friends,  which  makes  excellent  and 
improving  reading. 

Abraham  took  his  son  to  Paris  in  1825, 
and  asked  Cherubini's  advice  whether  or 
not  the  boy  should  continue  to  pursue  a 
musical  profession.  Cherubini  left  no  doubt 
in  the  father's  mind,  if  any  there  was,  but 
Abraham  would  not  consent  to  leaving  his 
son  with  Cherubini  in  Paris,  and  took  him 
back  to  Berlin,  where  he  kept  him  under  his 
parental  guidance  and  authority. 

In  1826,  Felix  wrote  the  overture  to 
Shakespeare's  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream," 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy         133 

a  work  which  discloses  the  full  ripeness  of 
his  musical  genius.  His  first  larger  opera 
was  performed  in  Berlin,  in  1827,  but  owing 
to  a  poor  libretto  it  had  only  mediocre 
success.  Intrigues  at  the  opera  house  added 
to  the  young  man's  annoyance,  and  the 
incident  was  the  beginning  of  a  distinct 
dislike  that  Mendelssohn  felt  ever  after  for 
Berlin.  During  his  musical  studies  he  had 
become  engrossed  in  the  works  of  Handel 
and  Bach,  then  hardly  known  by  the 
general  public.  It  is  not  one  of  Mendels- 
sohn's smallest  merits  to  have  rediscovered 
these  works;  and  his  performance  of  Bach's 
music  for  the  "Passion  according  to  St. 
Matthew"  on  March  11,  1829,  at  Berlin, 
will  ever  remain  a  memorable  date  in  the 
history  of  music. 

Sent  by  his  father,  who  always  acted 
as  his  son's  adviser,  he  travelled  to  Switzer- 
land and  Italy,  to  France,  and  in  1829  to 
England,  where  he  achieved  triumphs  as 
pianist,  composer  and  conductor.     He  visited 


134 Alia  Breve 

England  nine  times,  and  travelled  through 
Scotland  and  Ireland,  finding  inspiration 
wherever  he  went — witness  his  "Italian 
Symphony,"  "Scotch  Symphony,"  "Vene- 
tian Gondolier  Songs,"  "Hebrides"  overture, 
"Calm  Sea  and  Prosperous  Voyage,"  and 
so  many  other  compositions.  His  famous 
"Songs  without  Words"  were  really  sketches 
of  a  traveller,  written  for  the  delectation  of 
those  who  had  stayed  at  home.  They  may 
have  the  slightness  of  such  sketches,  but 
they  also  have  the  vividness  of  indelible 
impressions  made  on  a  sensitive  and  cultured 
mind,  and  are  drawn  with  infinite  charm  and 
grace. 

Mendelssohn  acted  as  conductor  at 
various  musical  festivals,  and  spent  a  short 
time  as  musical  director  in  Diisseldorf,  where 
his  oratorio  "St.  Paul"  was  brought  out  in 
1836.  Like  his  brother  and  his  two  sisters, 
he  was  brought  up  in  the  Christian  religion, 
and  in  1837  married  the  daughter  of  a 
Protestant  clergyman.     His  appointment  as 


Felix  Mendelssohn-Bartholdy         135 

conductor  of  the  Leipzig  Gewandhaus  or- 
chestra, in  1835,  had  given  him  at  last  a 
position  worthy  of  his  extraordinary  talents. 
His  influence  made  Leipzig  the  center  of 
musical  life  in  Germany;  his  founding  of 
the  Leipzig  Conservatory  of  Music,  in  1843, 
created  an  institution  which  long  remained 
a  model  of  its  kind.  On  his  last  visit  to 
England,  in  1846,  he  produced  at  Birming- 
ham his  oratorio  "Elijah." 

On  his  return  to  Leipzig,  he  began  to 
feel  the  effect  of  overwork;  he  resigned  the 
conductorship  of  the  orchestra.  The  death 
of  his  beloved  sister  Fanny  broke  his  heart; 
he  passed  away  November  4,  1847. 

Only  at  the  end  of  his  days  did  Felix 
Mendelssohn  learn  to  know  the  sorrow  of 
bereavement  and  the  tragedy  of  human 
helplessness.  But  then  it  was  too  late  for 
him  to  voice  his  grief  in  tones.  As  his  life 
was  full  of  sunshine,  so  is  his  music;  the 
overpowering,  elemental  note  is  missing 
even  in  his  largest  works.     He  was  a  classicist 


136  Alia  Breve 

by  education,  and  a  romanticist  through 
contagion.  Weber's  music  decidedly  in- 
fluenced him.  Fairy  tale  and  folklore  at- 
tracted him  as  much  as  it  had  the  older 
master.  Hence  his  music  for  a  "Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream,"  for  Goethe's  "The 
First  Walpurgis  Night,"  the  fragments  of 
an  opera  "The  Loreley,"  and  his  overture 
"The  Lovely  Melusine."  He  wrote  several 
choral  works  besides  his  two  oratorios, 
much  chamber-music,  and  a  violin  concerto 
that  is  especially  noteworthy.  All  of  his 
music  bears  the  stamp  of  refinement,  the 
glitter  and  opulence  of  the  surroundings  that 
made  his  short  life  an  unusually  active  and 
happy  one. 


XI 

CHOPIN 


Then  were  celestial  harpings  heard,  not  in  full 
symphony,  as  those  by  which  the  spheres  are 
tutored;  but,  as  loudest  instruments  on  earth 
speak  oftentimes,  muffled;  so  to  accommodate 
their  sound  the  better  to  the  weak  ears  of  the 
imperfect-born. 

— Charles  Lamb 


XI 

FREDERIC  CHOPIN 

The  path  of  Chopin's  life  may  be  retraced 
with  a  few  strokes;  no  words  can  adequately 
describe  the  magic  of  his  music.  And  yet, 
much  has  been  written  about  it  by  masters 
of  the  sonorous  phrase,  by  cavilling  critics  or 
fanatic  worshippers — often  extravagantly, 
never  impassively!  Nor  was  it  only  after 
death  that  man  and  work  were  paid  their  due, 
although  the  masses,  ever  attracted  by 
obvious  virtuosity,  could  not  have  been 
expected  to  prefer  the  seer  of  strange  and 
novel  beauty  to  his  shallow  contemporaries, 
much  as  it  disappointed  the  hypersensitive 
and  morbid  artist.  But  it  was  honor,  indeed, 
to  be  hailed  by  a  Schumann  as  "the  boldest, 
proudest  poet-soul  of  his  time,"  and  pardon- 
able, perhaps,  in  a  disillusioned,  self-centered 
mind  not  to  return  the  greeting;  it  was  sweet 

[139] 


140 Alia  Breve 

to  receive  fervent  homage  from  the  fairest, 
and  gratifying  to  enjoy  the  friendship  of  the 
greatest  among  kindred  spirits. 

Chopin  was  born  February  22,  1810,  in  a 
village  not  far  from  Warsaw,  the  capital  of 
Poland.  His  father  taught  at  a  school 
which  was  frequented  by  children  of  the 
Polish  aristocracy,  and  where  young  Fre- 
deric formed  many  blackboard  acquaint- 
ances that  ripened  into  pleasant  connections 
of  helpful  influence  on  his  future.  The  boy's 
musical  talents  became  apparent  at  an 
early  age.  The  teacher  who  did  most  for 
their  development  was  Joseph  Eisner  (1769- 
1854),  a  man  of  sound  intelligence  and  taste. 
Chopin  soon  gained  a  reputation  as  a  fin- 
ished pianist  and  a  composer  of  distinction. 
However,  fame  could  be  bought  only  in  the 
cosmopolitan  music  marts  of  Europe.  He 
visited  Berlin  in  1828;  in  the  following  year 
he  went  to  Vienna,  where  he  played  success- 
fully in  public.  He  returned  to  Warsaw 
by  way  of  Prague,   Dresden   and   Breslau, 


Frederic  Chopin  141 

widening  everywhere  his  circle  of  musical 
relations.  In  November,  1830,  Chopin  set 
out  for  a  second  visit  to  Vienna.'  But  the 
Viennese  public  did  not  quicken  to  the 
charms  of  his  touch  as  it  had  done  in  1829. 
More  boisterous  players  had  ensnared  it. 
To  the  disillusionment  of  the  musician  was 
added  that  of  the  patriot  who  saw  another 
of  the  periodic  Polish  revolutions,  an 
attempt  in  December,  1830,  to  shake  off 
Russia's  yoke,  finally  and  dismally  collapse 
before  the  overwhelming  armies  of  the  Czar. 
He  decided  to  try  his  luck  in  England,  started 
on  his  way  to  Munich,  and  arrived  at  Paris 
in  October,  1831.  Here  he  remained,  with 
few  and  short  interruptions,  for  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

The  Paris  of  1831  was  the  gathering 
place  of  illustrious  men  and  women,  the 
caldron  in  which  new  creeds  of  art  and  poli- 
tics fermented.  The  democratic  monarchy 
of  Louis-Philippe,  King  by  the  grace  of  the 
"July  revolt"  of  1830  and  deposed  by  the 


142 Alia  Breve 

"February  insurrection"  of  1848,  offered 
shelter  to  a  large  number  of  political  refu- 
gees from  other  countries.  Chopin,  who 
was  never  to  return  to  Poland,  found  here 
many  of  his  compatriots  and  intimate 
friends.  His  ardent  love  for  the  Polish 
fatherland,  the  melancholy  fate  of  the  exiled, 
are  voiced  in  some  of  the  most  chivalrous 
and  lofty  pages  of  his  music,  as  well  as  in 
some  of  the  tenderest  and  saddest.  His 
aspirations  and  dreams,  his  sorrow  and  grief, 
were  shared  by  the  nobility  of  blood  and 
brain  that  welcomed  in  him  a  precious 
addition  to  their  colony.  It  is  not  sur- 
prising that  he  should  have  been  drawn  to 
Heine,  likewise  an  exile,  whose  warm  lyri- 
cism and  icy  wit  formed  such  an  incom- 
parable combination.  The  parallel  between 
the  musician  and  the  poet  is  unavoidable; 
it  sounds  the  tonic  triad  in  the  gamut  of 
their  emotions:  homesick,  lovesick,  soulsick. 
Chopin  gave  his  first  recital  in  Paris 
under    the    auspices    of    the    publisher    and 


Frederic  Chopin 143 

piano  manufacturer  Camille  Pleyel,  from 
the  "slightly  veiled,  yet  silvery  sonorous- 
ness" of  whose  instrument  he  drew  sounds 
such  as  had  not  been  heard  before.  After 
1835,  he  appeared  but  seldom  in  public.  He 
devoted  his  time  to  composing  and  teaching. 
The  majority  of  Chopin's  compositions  were 
written  in  Paris  and  during  the  summers 
that  he  spent  at  Nohant,  the  country-seat 
of  that  extraordinary  woman  who  wrote 
under  the  pen-name  of  "George  Sand"  and 
who  made  a  specialty  of  gleaning  the  ma- 
terial for  her  romances  from  personal  ex- 
perience. They  met  in  1837  and  parted 
ten  years  later.  Soon  after  his  arrival  in 
Paris,  Chopin,  in  order  to  make  a  living, 
had  settled  down  to  a  routine  of  teaching, 
and  numerous  were  the  pupils  who  came 
to  take  lessons  from  this  pale  young  man  of 
languid  airs,  of  faultless  manners  and  attire, 
succumbing  each  and  all  to  their  teacher's 
irresistible  fascination,  many  of  them  loyal 
in  their  cult  for  him  unto  the  end,  like  that 


144  Alia  Breve 

privileged  Miss  Stirling  who  sent  him  from 
Edinburgh  twenty  thousand  francs  when 
she  heard  the  ailing  master  was  in  need; 
like  the  Countess  Delphine  Potocka  who 
rushed  from  Nice  to  his  deathbed,  and — 
we  are  told — brightened  his  last  hours  with 
her  singing;  like  Adolph  Gutmann — one  of 
his  favorite  pupils,  to  whom  the  C#  minor 
Scherzo  was  inscribed — in  whose  arms  he 
is  said  to  have  expired,  after  so  much  physi- 
cal and  mental  suffering. 

The  seductive  grace  that  distinguishes 
many  of  Chopin's  compositions,  the  often 
painful  languor  which  he  puts  into  a  melody, 
the  incisiveness  that  he  imparts  to  a  rhythm, 
account  for  the  present  hold  of  his  music  on 
all  the  world,  including  the  unmusical  half. 
What  the  musician  never  tires  of  admiring 
in  this  remarkable  innovator — ranking  as 
such  with  Bach,  Wagner  and  Debussy — is 
the  keenness  of  his  divining  ear,  the  surety 
of  his  revealing  fingers.  Chopin  wrote 
practically    only    for    the    piano,    the    real 


Frederic  Chopin  145 

possibilities  of  which  he  was  the  first  to 
discover.  Under  his  hands  the  instrument 
ceased  to  be  a  mechanism  of  "percussion." 
The  "Hammerclavier"  was  taught  subjec- 
tion to  his  varying  moods  of  passion,  tender- 
ness or  playful  irony;  of  anger,  simple  love- 
liness, or  gloom;  from  the  keyboard  he 
drew  the  brilliant  glare  of  trumpets  or  the 
throb  of  muffled  drums;  but  he  always  had 
regard  for  "musical  sonority,"  for  harmo- 
nious distribution  of  chord  and  arpeggio, 
and  proved  that  even  little  "hammers" 
were  intended — first  and  last — to  sing!  The 
shimmering  iridescence  of  his  chromati- 
cism— harmonic  as  well  as  melodic — is  Cho- 
pin's greatest  gift  to  music;  he  tapped  a 
source  that  has  not  been  exhausted  to  this 
day.  The  pearly  sinuosities  of  his  runs, 
his  filigree  of  dazzling  arabesques,  inaugu- 
rated a  new  era  in  musical  "embellish- 
ments." Peculiar  to  his  music  was  the 
style  of  his  performance:  that  flexibility  of 
"tempo  rubato,"  almost  imperceptible  and 


146 Alia  Breve 

indefinable,  yet  so  essential  and  so  telling. 
Each  new  mode  of  musical  expression 
demands  a  special  and  fitting  manner  of 
rendition  to  become  articulate.  What  ap- 
plies to  the  difference  of  orchestral  technique 
in  Mozart,  Berlioz  and  Stravinsky,  is  equally 
true  of  the  piano  styles  of  Chopin,  Debussy 
and  the  later  Scriabin,  fundamentally  re- 
lated though  the  three  may  be.  Schumann 
had  said  of  the  "Preludes,"  after  praising 
them  loudly:  "The  Philistines  must  keep 
away."  But  Ignaz  Moscheles,  musical 
middle-man,  disregarded  the  warning,  and 
wrote,  upon  having  become  acquainted  with 
Chopin's  compositions:  "I  am  charmed  with 
their  originality,  and  the  national  colouring 
of  his  subjects.  My  thoughts,  however, 
and  through  them  my  fingers,  stumble  at 
certain  hard,  inartistic,  and  to  me  incon- 
ceivable modulations.  On  the  whole  I  find 
his  music  too  sweet,  not  manly  enough,  and 
hardly  the  work  of  a  profound  musician." 
Thus    the    value    of    contemporary   musical 


Frederic  Chopin 147 

criticism,  based  on  "retarded  hearing,"  re- 
mains forever  patent.  Moscheles  corrected 
himself  later  (1839)  in  a  description  of 
Chopin's  person  and  playing:  "His  appear- 
ance completely  resembles  his  music — they 
are  both  delicate  and  dreamy.  He  played 
to  me,  in  compliance  with  my  request,  and 
I  now  for  the  first  time  understand  his 
music,  and  all  the  raptures  of  the  ladies' 
world  become  intelligible.  The  ad  libitum 
playing,  which  in  the  hand  of  other  in- 
terpreters of  his  music  degenerates  into  a 
constant  uncertainty  of  rhythm,  is  with  him 
an  element  of  exquisite  originality;  the 
hard,  inartistic  [!]  modulations,  so  like  those 
of  a  dilettante — which  I  never  can  manage 
when  playing  Chopin's  music — cease  to  shock 
me,  for  he  glides  over  them  almost  im- 
perceptibly with  his  elfish  fingers.  His  soft 
playing  being  a  mere  breath,  he  requires  no 
powerful  forte  to  produce  the  desired  con- 
trasts.— He  played  me  some  of  his  Etudes, 
and   his   latest   work,    'Preludes.' — Chopin's 


148 Alia  Breve 

excellent  pupil  Gutmann  played  his  manu- 
script Scherzo  in  C-sharp  minor,  Chopin 
himself  his  manuscript  Sonata  in  B-flat 
minor,   with   the   Funeral   March." 

Nervously  high-strung,  physically  weak, 
Chopin  had  no  reserve  power  to  fight  con- 
sumption when  it  attacked  his  lungs.  On 
the  return  from  a  visit  to  England,  during 
the  winter  of  1848-49,  his  condition  grew 
rapidly  worse.  He  became  so  feeble  that 
he  could  no  longer  walk.  He  died  in  Paris, 
in  the  early  morning  of  October  17,  1849. 
And  now  let  Liszt,  that  great  and  generous 
musician,  the  friend  of  Chopin,  give  you  his 
version  of  the  end: 

"The  final  agony  commenced  about 
two  o'clock;  a  cold  sweat  ran  profusely 
from  his  brow;  after  a  short  drowsiness,  he 
asked,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible:  'Who  is 
near  me?'  Being  answered,  he  bent  his  head 
to  kiss  the  hand  of  M.  Gutmann,  who  still 
supported  it; — while  giving  this  last  tender 


Frederic  Chopin  149 

proof  of  love  and  gratitude,  the  soul  of  the 
artist  left  its  fragile  clay.  He  died  as  he 
had  lived — in  loving." 


XII 

SCHUMANN 


It  is  the  addition  of  strangeness  to  beauty  that 
constitutes  the  romantic  character  in  art;  and  the 
desire  of  beauty  being  a  fixed  element  in  every 
artistic  organization,  it  is  the  addition  of  curiosity 
to  this  desire  of  beauty  that  constitutes  the 
romantic  temper. 

—  IV alter  Pater 


XII 

ROBERT  SCHUMANN 

Out  of  the  skies  of  poetry  the  spirit  of 
"romanticism"  had  descended  upon  music 
at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
and  musicians  went  forth  to  preach,  in  a 
universal  tongue,  the  evangel  of  Goethe  and 
Heine,  of  Byron,  Lamartine  and  Victor 
Hugo.  The  age  of  chivalry  seemed  to  have 
returned,  bringing  with  it  new  troubadours 
to  praise  high  deeds  of  manly  prowess  and 
sing  the  charms  and  virtues  of  fair  women. 
The  mysticism  of  pious  knights  and  militant 
monks  took  the  form  of  a  pagan  love  for 
nature's  hidden  beauties.  Music  was  no 
longer  satisfied  with  giving  puerile  imitations 
of  bird  calls,  babbling  brooks  and  rumbling 
thunder.  The  secret  wonders  of  night,  the 
conquering  advent  of  spring,  the  grandeur 
of  mountain  and  sea,  found  expression  in 
tones.     And  as  this  could  be  done  by  im- 

[153] 


154 Alia  Breve 

plication  only,  by  a  suggestion  of  mood 
rather  than  pictorial  preciseness,  that  quality 
of  the  human  mind  known  as  imagination 
became  paramount  with  the  composer  and 
indispensable  to  the  interpreter  of  music. 
Romanticism  is  fancy  freed  from  the  bounds 
of  convention  and  reason,  is  the  lure  of  ex- 
ploring unexplorable  realms  that  border  on 
the  confines  of  madness,  where  E.  T.  A. 
Hoffmann,  the  spinner  of  fantastic  tales, 
and  Robert  Schumann,  the  musician  of  the 
"Fantasiestucke,"  penetrated  farthest  and 
were  lost. 

Schumann  was  born  June  8,  1810,  at 
Zwickau  in  Saxony,  the  youngest  son  of  his 
parents.  His  father  was  a  bookseller,  a 
man  of  good  liteiary  taste.  We  may  as- 
sume that  in  the  home  of  the  Schumanns 
bookish  questions  were  frequently  discussed, 
that  "best  sellers"  and  startling  novelties 
were  often  mentioned,  and  that  thereby  the 
interest  in  Robert  was  awakened  for  that 
new  movement  in  poetry  and  fiction  which 


Robert  Schumann  155 

was  holding  the  reading  public  of  Europe  in 
its  grip.  The  boy  received  the  higher  school 
education  necessary  for  entering  a  university. 
He  began  to  compose  music  when  he  was 
seven  years  old,  and  learned  to  play  the 
piano.  But  his  musical  preoccupations 
were  not  permitted  to  interfere  with  the 
course  of  his  humanistic  studies.  He  was 
admitted  to  the  University  of  Leipzig  in 
1828,  and  attended  lectures  on  law,  philoso- 
phy and  literature.  Following  the  ancient 
custom  of  continental  scholars  to  go  from  one 
college  to  another,  in  order  to  choose  the 
best  teachers  and  most  congenial  surround- 
ings, Schumann  went  to  Heidelberg  in  1829. 
The  lovely  old  town  on  the  banks  of  the 
Neckar  with  its  wooded  hills,  crowned  by  a 
famous  ruin,  was  just  the  place  for  this 
impressionable  youth.  Meanwhile  he  had 
not  neglected  his  music,  and  when  he  re- 
turned to  Leipzig,  in  the  following  year, 
he  decided  to  prepare  himself  for  the 
career  of  a  concert  pianist  under  the  tuition 


156  Alia  Breve 


of  Fr.  Wieck,  whose  house  became  his  second 
home.  But  certain  methods  which  he  em- 
ployed in  order  to  hasten  technical  progress 
proved  harmful  to  his  hands,  and  he  had  to 
abandon  his  plans.  Composition  now  be- 
came his  main  occupation,  together  with 
literary  work,  especially  musical  criticism. 
Schumann  founded  a  review  which  rendered 
important  service  in  directing  public  taste 
and  in  paving  the  way  for  new  composers. 
It  was  he  who  first  called  attention  in  Ger- 
many to  the  music  of  Chopin,  and  twenty 
years  later  saluted  young  Brahms  as  a 
rising  genius.  In  1840,  Schumann  married 
Clara  Wieck,  daughter  of  his  teacher,  herself 
an  eminent  pianist  who  became  the  ideal 
performer  of  her  husband's  music.  From 
this  period  date  the  songs  that  make  Schu- 
mann one  of  the  first  lyric  tone-poets  of  all 
times.  To  name  the  finest,  one  would  have 
to  name  them  nearly  all;  to  mention  but  the 
strangest  and  least  known,  one  might  point 


Robert  Schumann  157 

to  "Im  Zwielicht"  and  "Auf  einer  alten 
Burg." 

Clara  was  ever  the  faithful  watcher  and 
intelligent  ministrant,  wife  and  artist.  Her 
family  life  was  burdened  with  many  griefs. 
But  she  shared  to  the  fullest  Robert's 
ecstatic  joys  of  creation.  When  he  was  at 
work  on  his  Symphony  in  D  minor,  she 
made  this  entry  in  her  diary  under  the  date 
of  May  31,  1841:  "Robert  began  yesterday 
another  symphony,  which  will  be  in  one 
movement,  and  yet  contain  an  adagio  and 
a  finale.  I  have  heard  nothing  about  it, 
yet  I  see  Robert's  bustle,  and  I  hear  the 
D  minor  sounding  wildly  from  a  distance, 
so  that  I  know  in  advance  that  another  work 
will  be  fashioned  in  the  depths  of  his  soul. 
Heaven  is  kindly  disposed  toward  us:  Robert 
cannot  be  happier  in  the  composition  than 
I  am  when  he  shows  me  such  a  work." 

In  1843  Schumann  was  invited  by 
Mendelssohn  to  join  the  faculty  of  the  newly 
founded    conservatory    in    Leipzig,    but    his 


158 Alia  Breve 

stay  was  a  short  one.  He  toured  Russia  in 
company  with  his  wife,  in  1844,  and  in  the 
autumn  of  the  same  year  settled  in  Dresden. 
He  preferred  the  comparative  quiet  of  this 
place:  This  suits  my  condition,  for  I  still 
suffer  very  much  from  my  nerves."  Here 
he  remained  until  1850,  when  he  was  called 
to  Diisseldorf  as  municipal  director  of  music. 
Three  years  later,  the  wonderful  brain  that 
had  fashioned  so  many  gems  of  the  purest 
water,  became  clouded,  and  final  darkness 
slowly  settled  around  him  who  had  sent  so 
much  light  into  the  world.  His  attacks  of 
mental  depression  dated  from  about  his 
twenty-fifth  year;  they  grew  steadily  worse, 
and  when  he  attempted  to  commit  suicide 
by  jumping  into  the  Rhine  in  February, 
1854,  his  condition  had  to  be  acknowledged 
hopeless.  He  was  placed  in  an  asylum  at 
Endenich,  near  Bonn  on  the  Rhine,  where 
he  died  July  29,  1856. 

Schumann    the    dreamer,    the   visionary, 
the    chivalrous    champion,    the    poet,    sang 


Robert  Schumann  159 

with  a  voice  that  reflected  all  the  delicate 
musings  and  imaginings  of  his  mind.  Whim- 
sical or  tender,  brilliant  or  simple,  shy  or 
exuberant — his  music  is  always  expressive, 
his  characterization  infallible.  Labelled  in 
fanciful  manner,  his  piano  pieces — not  less 
than  his  songs — always  tell  their  story,  if 
properly  retold!  Exquisite  miniaturist  in 
his  "Scenes  of  Childhood,"  etcher  of  opulent 
light  and  shade  in  his  "Carnival,"  "Kreis- 
leriana"  and  "Novellettes,"  wielder  of  larger 
brushes  in  his  remarkable  piano  concerto, 
he  wrote  for  the  instrument  what  may  justly 
be  called  the  most  picturesque,  the  most 
romantic,  of  all  romantic  music. 

A  fresh  gust,  freighted  with  all  the  scents 
of  May,  was  blowing  through  the  grove  of 
Music.  Birdlings  were  tuning  up  in  a  soar- 
ing treble,  to  the  basso  ostinato  of  croaking 
frogs.  Let  us  ponder  what  Moscheles,  the 
pedantic  pianist  and  malicious  diarist,  wrote 
in  1850,  after  hearing  Schumann's  opera 
"Genoveva" :  "There  is  a  want  of  intelligible, 


160 Alia  Breve 

flowing,  rhythmical  melody;  I  am  one  of 
Schumann's  worshippers,  but  cannot  conceal 
from  myself  this  weakness.  We  applauded 
enthusiastically,  and  called  him  forward  at 
the  end,  but  there  was  not  a  single  'encore'." 

Schumann  was  never  intended  for  an 
opera  composer.  But  "want  of  melody"  was 
certainly  not  his! 

In  1853,  reviewing  the  trend  of  the 
times,  as  it  were,  Moscheles  had  this  to  say: 
"Brahms'  compositions  are  of  a  really 
elevated  character,  and  Schumann,  whom 
he  has  chosen  as  a  model,  recommends  him 
as  the  'Messiah  of  Music'  I  find  him,  like 
Schumann,  often  piquant,  but  occasionally 
too  labored.  Even  Beethoven's  music  was 
objected  to,  people  say,  when  it  first  ap- 
peared, as  being  too  far-fetched,  and  difficult 
to  understand.  True  it  is  that  Beethoven's 
genius  lured  him  away  to  paths  never  trodden 
before,  which  are  not  accessible  to  everyone, 
and  yet  since  that  time  it  has  been  proved 
that  he  not  only  sought  but  found  what   he 


Robert  Schumann  161 


wished  to  express  in  music.  Let  us  hope  that 
this  also  may  be  the  lot  of  the  younger  com- 
posers. Brahms'  technical  powers,  his  reading 
from  sight,  do  him  and  his  teacher,  Eduard 
Marxsen,  great  credit. — I  have  heard  a  good 
deal  of  Berlioz,  and  give  him  my  closest  at- 
tention. My  opinion  of  his  music  remains 
unshaken,  I  acknowledge  his  merit,  but 
cannot  always  understand  him — or  is  such 
music  as  the  'Witches'  Sabbath'  not  meant 
to  be  understood  ?  Curious — one  now  listens 
again  with  pleasure  to  the  simple  opera, 
'Doctor  and  Apothecary,'  by  Dittersdorf; 
one  forgets  how  Rossini  in  his  'Tell,'  and 
Meyerbeer  in  his  'Roberto,'  have  crammed 
us  with  their  loaded  instrumentation  and 
scenic  effects,  and  how  Wagner  has  gone 
beyond  both.     Les  extremes  se  touchent." 

But  what  if  there  be  no  extremes  in  music, 
save  those  of  boredom  and  sterility? 


XIII 

LISZT 


It  is  by  art  and  religion  that  men  have  always 
sought  rest.  Art  is  a  world  of  man's  own  making, 
in  which  he  finds  harmonious  development.  Relig- 
ion is  the  anodyne  cup — indeed  of  our  own  blood — 
at  which  we  slake  our  thirst  when  our  hearts  are 
torn  by  personal  misery,  or  weary  and  distracted  by 
life's  heat  and  restless  hurry. 

— Havelock  Ellis 


XIII 

FRANZ  LISZT 

What  the  Romans  meant  by  vales — 
divinely  inspired  singer  and  prophet,  leader 
in  his  chosen  art — such  was  Liszt.  As  these 
ancient  magi  were  believed  to  hold  com- 
munion with  the  supernatural,  only  so  could 
a  world  that  was  fortunate  enough  to  live 
under  the  spell  of  Liszt's  piano  playing,  ex- 
plain his  wizardry.  Legend  has  taken  pos- 
session of  him;  as  he  was  worshipped  in  the 
living  person,  so  has  his  memory  become 
a  veritable  cult,  with  the  obligatory  rites 
and  relics.  We  can  but  regret  that  his  day 
did  not  know  the  uncanny  "recording"  ap- 
pliances of  our  own.  If  his  performance  is 
receding  more  and  more  to  the  dim  region 
of  fable,  the  greatness  of  his  heart  and  the 
true  originality  of  his  music  are  shining  in 
ever-growing  brightness.  As  a  character 
and   a   composer,   posterity  is  beginning  to 

[165  1 


166 Alia  Breve 

judge  him  more  fairly  than  did  his  contem- 
poraries, who  could  not  do  sufficient  honor 
to  the  eccentric  virtuoso. 

The  life  of  Liszt  was  brilliant,  spectacular. 
Drab  words  can  give  only  a  glimpse  of  it. 
A  youth,  portrayed  by  the  music-mad  Ingres 
as  a  dreamy  Apollo  in  London-tailored 
clothes,  his  golden  curls  were  the  admiration 
of  all  romantic  women  in  the  romantic  Paris 
of  1830,  while  his  demoniacal  hands  were 
the  dread  and  envy  of  his  pianistic  rivals. 
At  seventy,  robed  in  priestly  black,  the  white 
curls  that  framed  his  warty,  wrinkled  face 
were  still  coveted  by  doting  femininity,  his 
fingers  still  conjured  up  enchantment  from 
out  a  case  of  wire  strings:  his  spirit  had  not 
aged.  His  personality  and  manners,  not 
less  than  his  art  and  wit,  made  him  beloved 
by  all.  No  man  of  his  time  was  more  truly 
the  grand  seigneur  of  music,  or  the  fairy-god- 
father of  struggling  talent.  In  the  Parisian 
salons  of  the  July  monarchy  he  was  a  peer  of 
Chopin,    Victor    Hugo,    George    Sand    and 


Franz  Liszt  167 

Heine.  Between  rapid-fire  runs  and  octave 
trills  he  could  shrewdly  discuss  Saint-Simon's 
nouveau  christianisme  or  political  and  social 
problems.  He  was  at  ease  strolling  with 
Napoleon  III  on  the  terrace  of  the  Tuileries, 
or  with  Pius  IX  in  the  gardens  of  the  Vatican. 
Whether  living  with  the  astonishing  Countess 
d'Agoult  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Geneva,  or 
at  Weimar's  "Altenburg"  with  the  solicitous 
Princess  Sayn- Wittgenstein  in  attendance; 
whether  in  the  blaze  of  a  crowded  concert 
hall  or  in  cloistral  retirement  at  Santa 
Francesca  Romana,  with  the  ruins  of  the 
Forum  at  his  door,  the  various  scenes  in 
this  unparalleled  career  were  always  of  a  sort 
to  keep  the  tongues  of  Europe  wagging,  to 
satisfy  the  public's  craving  for  picturesque 
effects  and  sentimental  complications. 

While  he  furnished  his  publishers  with 
numberless  transcriptions  of  all  the  tunes  in 
vogue,  formed  the  most  notable  group  of 
pianists  any  master  ever  reared,  fought  the 
battles    of    Wagner    and    a    score    of    lesser 


168 Alia  Breve 

Zukunftsmusiker,  attended  to  a  stupendous 
correspondence  and  other  literary  work, 
he  still  found  time  to  write  those  compositions 
which  reveal  him  the  exalted  soul  and  daring 
pioneer  he  was. 

Born  at  Raiding,  near  Oedenburg  in 
Hungary,  on  October  22nd,  1811,  Franz 
Liszt  was  fortunate  in  having  a  musical 
father  who  gave  the  boy  his  first  piano  lessons 
and  left  nothing  undone  to  develop  the 
exceptional  abilities  of  his  son.  Aged  nine, 
Franz  played  before  an  audience  of  Hun- 
garian nobles,  who  were  so  impressed  that 
they  contributed  to  a  fund  which  permitted 
the  father  to  give  up  his  position  as  farm 
superintendent  of  Count  Esterhazy,  and 
take  his  little  prodigy  to  Czerny  in  Vienna. 
In  1823  Beethoven  heard  him  play,  and 
embraced  him — the  latter  is  authenticated, 
the  former  at  least  doubtful,  considering  the 
great  man's  tragic  deafness.  At  the  age 
of  twelve  Liszt  was  taken  to  Paris,  where 
he  created   a  furore.     Cherubini  would  not 


Franz  Liszt 169 

accept  him  at  the  Conservatoire,  under  the 
pretext  that  he  was  a  foreigner.  Reicha 
became  his  teacher  in  composition;  on  the 
piano  there  was  little  left  for  him  to  learn. 
Switzerland  and  London  were  next  to  hear 
him.  For  the  long  journeys  in  his  travelling 
coach,  he  carried  with  him  a  little  silent 
clavier  to  train  his  technique  in  daily  ex- 
ercises. After  his  father  died,  in  1827,  Liszt 
taught  and  concertized  in  order  to  support 
his  mother.  He  soon  amassed  a  fortune. 
In  the  winter  of  1833-34  he  met  Countess 
d'Agoult.  Liszt  vainly  tried  to  escape  the 
charms  of  this  politico-poetic  Circe.  Their 
attachment  created  a  scandal.  It  proved 
anew  that  our  moral  code  was  drawn  up 
without  consulting  genius.  One  of  their 
three  children,  Cosima,  was  married  to  Hans 
von  Biilow,  and  later  to  Richard  Wagner. 
Four  years  they  lived  within  the  tolerant 
confines  of  the  Helvetian  republic,  or 
travelling  in  Italy.  Then  Liszt  resumed 
his  concertizing.     With  a  large  gift  of  money 


170 Alia  Breve 

from  the  proceeds  of  his  recitals,  he  made 
possible  the  completion  of  the  Beethoven 
monument  at  Bonn.  In  1844  growing  mis- 
understandings led  to  the  final  separation 
from  the  Countess.  His  wanderings  lasted 
till  1847,  carrying  him  through  Germany, 
Russia,  Sweden  and  Spain,  feted  wherever 
he  went.  The  university  of  Konigsberg, 
where  Kant  had  lectured,  gave  him  a  doctor's 
degree.  Kings  and  Emperors  had  to  be 
content  to  offer  him  orders,  jewels  and  other 
costly  trifles.  Having  entered  into  very 
cordial  relations  with  the  reigning  house  of 
Saxe-Weimar,  he  accepted  the  Grand-duke's 
offer  in  1848,  to  become  director  of  the 
court  opera  and  concerts.  From  1848  to 
1861  he  resided  more  or  less  permanently 
in  the  "city  of  the  Muses,"  forever  dis- 
tinguished by  Goethe  and  Schiller;  but  even 
in  later  years  he  liked  to  return  to  this 
charming  quiet  spot  among  the  wooded 
mountains  of  Thuringia.  During  this  period 
he  wrote  his  most  important  orchestral  works. 


Franz  Liszt  171 

In  his  symphonic  poems  he  followed  the 
example  of  Berlioz,  but  with  a  greater 
felicity  in  the  choice  of  his  subjects,  with  a 
broader  command  of  sensuous  melody,  and 
with  a  richer  palette  of  instrumental  colors. 
"Dante,"  "Tasso"  and  the  "Faust  Sym- 
phony" contain  remarkable  inventions  in 
tonal  beauty.  By  applying  his  methods 
of  orchestration  to  the  piano,  he  augmented 
its  range  and  endowed  it  with  a  new  wealth 
of  dynamic  shadings  and  contrasting  so- 
norities. 

During  this  first  Weimar  period  he  be- 
came the  champion  of  Wagner.  Memorable 
letters  were  exchanged  between  Liszt  and 
Wagner,  who,  as  a  political  exile  from 
Germany,  was  not  able  to  hear  the  first 
performance  of  his  "Lohengrin"  on  August 
28,  1850.  Liszt's  influence  quickened  the 
advance  of  music  incalculably.  Berlioz 
found  in  him  an  enthusiastic  interpreter. 
These  progressive  tendencies  met,  as  usual, 
with  attacks  from  the  reactionary  element 


172 Alia  Breve 

and,  tired  of  petty  cabals,  Liszt  left  Weimar 
in  1861  and  went  to  Rome,  where  he  resided 
until  1870.  His  religious  contemplations 
led  him  to  study  the  old  liturgical  chants 
and  sacred  music;  he  was  prompted  now 
himself  to  write  for  the  church.  As  his 
pupils  and  admirers  had  followed  him  wher- 
ever he  went,  so  did  they  soon  gather  around 
him  in  the  Eternal  City,  and  he  again  held 
his  court.  He  taught,  composed,  encouraged 
— always  kind  and  hospitable — enjoying  a 
glass  of  cognac  and  a  rubber  of  whist,  not- 
withstanding his  clerical  aspirations.  He 
took  the  lower  orders  in  1865,  and  thereafter 
Abbe  Liszt  wore  the  Roman  frock. 

In  1875  he  was  made  director  of  the 
musical  Academy  in  Budapest,  dividing  his 
time  between  the  Hungarian  capital,  Rome, 
and  Weimar,  to  which  old  associations  drew 
him  ever  again.  His  declining  years  were 
dimmed  by  the  rising  star  of  his  son-in-law, 
Richard  Wagner,  who  helped  himself  to 
much  of  what  Liszt  had  created.     Carrying 


Franz  Liszt  173 

his  train  of  disciples  the  length  and  breadth 
of  Europe,  spending  royally  of  his  wisdom 
and  encouragement,  his  earthly  travels  came 
to  an  end  at  Bayreuth,  on  July  31,  1886, 
during  a  visit  to  the  Wagnerian  Mecca. 
Thus  died  he  who  was  counted  on  as  an  added 
attraction  to  the  "shrine" — lonely  and  in- 
considerately— in  the  midst  of  the  festivities 
presided  over  by  his  calculating  daughter, 
Cosima. 

The  number  of  Liszt's  compositions  is 
very  large.  Not  all  of  them  withstand  the 
wear  of  time.  They  can  be  classed  roughly 
as,  first,  his  piano  music;  second,  his  or- 
chestral tone-poems;  and  third,  his  religious 
music.  Each  of  these  classes  may  be  sub- 
divided into  the  many  pieces  d'occasion, 
compositions  written,  as  it  were,  to  order, 
and  those  which  are  the  spontaneous  work 
of  his  own  choosing  and  devising.  His  songs, 
while  they  are  interesting  and  often  beauti- 
ful, are  rather  contrived"  than  inspired. 
It  was  only  natural  that  the  virtuoso  should 


174  Alia  Breve 


write  to  dazzle  the  public.  He  did  it  with 
his  "Hungarian  Rhapsodies,"  his  Etudes 
and  Concertos.  He  could  also  be  simple, 
and  wove  intimate  confessions  into  the 
shorter  sketches  that  illustrate,  autobio- 
graphically,  some  memorable  hours  in  his 
journeys  and  emotional  life.  His  church  music 
is  not  that  of  an  ingenuous  mind,  after  all, 
but  betrays  a  sort  of  dilettante  asceticism. 
He  emphasized  the  obvious  effects  of  the 
most  effective  ritual  in  Christendom.  When 
he  played  some  of  his  church  music  for 
Wagner,  at  Venice,  in  1883,  the  latter  re- 
marked: "Your  God  makes  a  lot  of  noise." 
In  a  work  like  his  "Legend  of  St.  Elisabeth" 
the  composer's  dramatic  and  religious  in- 
stincts mingle  in  more  fruitful  union.  His 
"program  symphony"  was  the  model  for  a 
long  line  of  successors,  who  must  trace  to 
him  what  they  learned  about  the  art  of  evok- 
ing mental  conceptions  and  distinctive  moods 
through  aural  sensations.  "Till  Eulen- 
spiegel"  of  Richard  Strauss,  Rachmaninoff's 


Franz  Liszt  175 

"Island  of  the  Dead,"  and  Debussy's  "La 
Mer,"  are  descendants  of  Liszt's  "Mazeppa," 
"Battle  of  the  Huns,"  "Les  Preludes,"  and 
all  his  other  orchestral  pieces  broidered  upon 
the  woof  of  some  poetic  or  pictorial  subject. 
But  his  contribution  to  music,  as  such  and 
apart  from  programmatic  associations,  is 
the  really  vital  service  he  rendered  his  art. 
Gifted  with  an  ear  that  caught  some  of  the 
unheard  harmonies  still  stored  beyond  the 
threshold  of  consciousness,  and  opening  the 
door  for  an  instant,  he  let  a  fresh  gust  of 
sounding  beauty  into  the  world.  He  was  the 
only  composer  of  the  nineteenth  century 
who  would  have  understood  and  liked  the 
music  of  the  early  twentieth,  because,  among 
all  the  musicians  of  his  time,  he  had  the 
farthest  vision  and  the  least  conceit. 


XIV 

WAGNER 


Et  tremblant  et  ravi,  Ton  sort  de  la  vulgaire 
salle  ou  le  miracle  de  cette  essentielle  musique 
s'est  accompli. 

— J.-K.  Huysmans 


XIV 

RICHARD  WAGNER 

Blazoned  in  blinding  light — clear  and 
sharp — stands  the  amazing  Master  of  Bay- 
reuth.  He  is  the  apotheosis  of  an  era. 
Transfiguring  the  musical  heritage  of  cen- 
turies, he  is  in  himself  a  transfiguration. 
Rooted  in  the  loam  of  tradition,  his  work 
branches  into  a  gigantic  tree,  bearing  fruit 
unlike  any  other;  proudly  lifting  its  top- 
most boughs  into  the  heavens;  clad  in  foliage 
that  changed,  through  all  the  stages  of  life's 
ripening  seasons,  from  the  pale  monochrome 
of  Spring  to  the  riotous  splendor  of  the 
autumnal  mountainside.  If  ever  there  was 
music  that  by  sheer  force  and  intensity 
"carried  away"  the  hearer,  it  is  Wagner's. 
Many  have  slandered  and  defiled  it;  more 
have  waxed  dithyrambic  over  it.  Although 
the  man  and  his  work  invite  a  careful  applica- 
tion of  critical  probe  and  scalpel,  one  who 
[179] 


180  Alia  Breve 


has  throbbed  under  the  spell  of  "Tristan's" 
magic  can  speak  of  that  experience  only  in 
enviously  wishing  for  the  language  of  Francis 
Thompson's  "Shelley." 

Wagner  was  concentration  and  vigor 
personified.  From  both  a  physical  and 
spiritual  point  of  view,  such  achievements  as 
his  could  have  been  accomplished  only  by  a 
dynamic  nature,  loving  controversy  and  un- 
daunted by  adversity.  His  ambitions  were 
supported  by  absolute  fatalism  and  bound- 
less egoism.  His  mentality  was  complex; 
high  ideals  and  lack  of  scruples  did  not  prove 
incompatible  with  him.  Wagner,  for  all 
his  weakness,  was  a  genius;  he  was  an  artist 
in  spite  of  his  theories.  What  the  shell  is  to 
the  egg,  such  are  theories  to  a  new  germ  in 
art.  They  are  essential  for  a  time.  But  the 
bird,  when  it  is  fully  hatched,  breaks  the 
native  prison  and  leaves  it  behind.  Some 
artistic  movements  are  not  content  to  imitate 
the  bird;  they  cling  to  their  shell.  The 
theories  of  Wagner — musical,  philosophical, 


Richard  Wagner 181 

sociological  and  political — did  more  to  ob- 
struct his  success  than  to  further  it;  they 
have  caused  among  his  followers  more  con- 
fusion than  enlightenment.  If  his  music 
conquered  all  obstacles  that  were  placed  in 
its  way,  if  it  is  still  the  most  radiant  emana- 
tion of  musical  energy,  it  is  because  of  its 
unprecedented  gorgeousness  and  sensuous 
beauty.  Also,  because  it  was  the  work  of  a 
master  craftsman,  whose  technique  evolved 
with  the  higher  reach  of  his  aims. 

It  is  idle  to  speculate  whether  the 
theatrical  environments  in  which  the  boy 
grew  up,  and  a  fondness  for  the  stage  in- 
herited from  his  father,  helped  Wagner  or 
not.  He  wrote  hardly  any  music  that  was 
not  conceived  as  part  of,  or  influenced  by, 
a  dramatic  action.  What  few  purely  in- 
strumental compositions  he  left,  not 
originally  intended  for  the  theatre,  are 
not  among  his  best.  He  was  dependent 
upon  a  "story"  and  a  "scene"  for  inspiration. 
And    thus    a    tin    swan,    cardboard    dragon 


182 Alia  Breve 

and  stuffed  dove  became  living  symbols  to 
him;  hissing  steam  pipes,  gauze  veils  and 
burning  pitch  he  saw  as  mighty  elements. 
They  were  responsible  for  some  of  his  most 
kindling  and  imposing  music.  In  child- 
hood he  became  saturated  with  the  atmo- 
sphere peculiar  to  the  stage.  He  had  literary 
propensities;  while  in  school,  he  wrote  poetry. 
Wagner  was  a  true  poet  only  in  the  sense 
that  he  contrived  for  his  operas  situations 
which  gave  him  opportunities  to  write  poetic 
music.  His  verses,  even  as  opera  verses  go, 
are  not  always  felicitous  and  need  the 
palliative  song.  Although  possessed  of  a 
strong  Saxon  dialect,  he  delighted  in  reading 
the  poems  of  his  operas  to  his  admirers.  In 
his  very  extensive  prose  writings,  the  style 
often  falls  below  the  lofty  idea  he  wishes  to 
express.  Prompted  by  his  dislike  for  the 
Semitic  race,  he  prophesied,  in  1852,  that 
the  time  was  approaching  when,  intellect- 
ually, Germans  "should  be  such  paupers 
that  the  appearance  of  a  new  book  from  the 


Richard  Wagner  183 


pen  of  Heinrich  Heine  would  create  quite 
a  sensation."  He  little  realized  that  this 
Jew  from  Diisseldorf,  exiled  in  Paris,  was 
one  of  the  last  great  masters  of  the  German 
tongue. 

Wagner,  the  poet  and  essayist,  cannot 
compare  with  the  musician,  nor  was  the  latter 
primarily  an  opera  composer,  contrary  to 
his  own  estimate.  Much  of  Wagner's  music 
is  as  thrilling  in  the  concert  room  as  it  is 
in  the  theatre;  the  voice,  particularly  that 
belonging  to  the  typically  Wagnerian  Held 
or  "dramatic  singer,"  is  not  always  missed. 
And  yet,  who  would  do  without  that  dark 
and  empty  street  of  Nuremberg,  at  the  end 
of  the  second  act  of  "Die  Meistersinger," 
during  the  eighteen  most  ravishing  measures 
in  that  ravishing  score?  Could  we  forgo 
the  delicious  liquidness  of  the  three  women's 
voices,  with  their  inevitable  "untempered- 
ness,"  in  the  trio  of  the  G  otter  dammerung 
Rheinmaidens? 


184 Alia  Breve 

Crowded  with  portentous  happenings, 
intricately  connected  with  many  currents  of 
his  time,  the  life  of  Richard  Wagner  is  not 
adequately  treated  in  a  few  pages.  What 
the  world  of  art,  science  and  politics  com- 
prised of  distinguished  men  and  women,  in 
his  day,  knew  him  as  friend  or  enemy.  His 
friends,  whether  in  humble  walks  or  seated 
upon  thrones,  were  to  him  always  welcome 
tools  for  obtaining  small  comforts  or  great 
advantages.  Nor  did  he  hesitate  to  hurt 
them  to  the  quick,  if  his  interest  or  whim 
seemed  to  demand  it.  His  indebtedness  to 
Liszt,  only  two  years  his  senior,  in  matters  of 
musical  criticism  and  prompting,  will  never 
be  known  to  a  fraction.  Had  it  not  been 
for  this  magnanimous  and  intrepid  champion, 
Wagner's  star  would  have  risen  much  later, 
events  might  have  shaped  themselves  differ- 
ently. 

(Wilhelm)  Richard  Wagner,  the  youngest 
of  seven  children,  was  born  May  22,  1813, 
at  Leipzig,  one  day  after  Napoleon's  victory 


Richard  Wagner  185 

at  Bautzen.  Five  months  later,  Napoleon 
was  decisively  beaten  at  Leipzig,  and  in  the 
wake  of  the  terrible  carnage  came  sickness. 
Wagner's  father,  a  police  official,  was  among 
those  who  succumbed  to  the  epidemic.  Two 
years  after  his  death,  the  widow  married  an 
actor,  Ludwig  Geyer,  with  whom  the  family 
moved  to  Dresden.  Geyer  died  in  1821. 
From  1822  to  1827  Richard  Geyer,  as  he 
was  then  known,  went  to  school  in  Dresden. 
Upon  the  return  of  the  family  to  Leipzig, 
in  1828,  he  continued  his  studies,  and  in 
February,    1831,   entered   the  University. 

His  music  lessons,  so  far,  had  not  been 
systematic.  He  had  tried  his  hand  at  the 
composition  of  overtures,  and  liked  to 
"bluster  about  politics  with  young  literati"; 
but  not  until  Theodor  Weinlig,  Cantor  of  the 
Thomas  School,  had  directed  him  to  the 
right  road,  did  his  musical  education  make 
much  headway.  He  began  to  devour  Beet- 
hoven, he  enthused  over  Weber's  "Frei- 
schiitz,"     His  first  large  work  was  a  sym- 


186  Alia  Breve 

phony,  wholly  imitative  of  Mozart  and 
Beethoven,  which  was  successfully  given 
at  the  Leipzig  Gewandhaus  on  January  10, 
1833.  It  did  in  no  wise  show  great  talent, 
and  much  less  originality.  Four  weeks 
earlier,  in  December  1832,  at  Paris,  Berlioz's 
"Fantastic  Symphony"  had  received  a  memo- 
rable performance.  Thus  approached,  the 
two   dates    become    indicative. 

From  February  1833  to  January  1834 
Wagner  filled  the  position  of  chorusmaster 
at  the  little  opera  house  in  Wiirzburg,  where 
his  brother  Albert  was  engaged  as  a  singer. 
In  the  Autumn  of  1834  he  became  conductor 
at  the  theatre  in  Magdeburg.  This  stage 
was  the  first  to  present  an  opera  by  Wagner; 
it  was  "Das  Liebesverbot,"  poorly  played 
and  coolly  received  on  March  29,  1836.  At 
Magdeburg  Wagner  fell  in  love  with  the 
actress  Minna  Planer,  whom  he  married  on 
November  24,  1836,  at  Konigsberg,  where 
both  had  found  engagements.  When  the 
manager  failed,  the  Wagners  were  fortunate 


Richard  Wagner    187 

in  being  asked  to  join  the  troupe  of  the  newly 
organized  theatre  at  Riga,  where  they  re- 
mained until  July,  1839.  They  were  not 
well  suited  to  each  other;  yet  Minna,  in- 
capable of  comprehending  her  husband, 
stood  faithfully  by  him  through  the  period 
of  his  greatest  want.  When  twenty  years 
later  she  had  cause  to  be  jealous,  and  showed 
her  feelings  too  violently,  it  came  to  a  sepa- 
ration. Wagner  wrote  of  that  parting,  1858, 
— made  final  in  1861 — in  his  Reminiscences: 
"It  was  the  most  brilliant  summer  day  with 
a  bright,  cloudless  sky;  I  remember  that  I 
never  once  looked  back,  or  shed  a  tear  on 
taking  leave  of  her,  and  this  almost  terrified 
me." 

The  time  of  their  hardest  trials  awaited 
Wagner  and  his  wife  at  Paris,  where  they 
arrived  in  the  Autumn  of  1839,  having 
journeyed  by  boat  from  Pillau  to  London, 
remaining  there  a  week,  thence  going  to 
Boulogne.  Here  Wagner  met  Meyerbeer, 
who   received  him   cordially  and   gave  him 


188  Alia  Breve 


letters  of  introduction  to  influential  people 
in  Paris.  But  the  sojourn  in  Paris  from 
September  1839  to  April  1842  was  a  long 
succession  of  hardships  and  disappointments. 
Wagner  had  to  do  hack  work  and  arrange- 
ments in  order  to  make  a  living.  The  only 
composition  of  his  performed  in  Paris  during 
that  time  (Feb.  1841)  was  an  overture  to 
a  play,  "Columbus,"  written  in  Magdeburg. 
He  tried  in  vain  to  interest  the  director  of 
the  Paris  Opera  in  his  "Rienzi,"  which  he 
had  begun  at  Riga.  Several  opera  projects 
had  occupied  him,  but  this  one,  carried  out 
according  to  the  Meyerbeerian  formula, 
was  the  first  work  which  established  Wagner's 
reputation  when  it  was  finally  brought  out  at 
Dresden,  October  20,  1842.  In  Paris  Wagner 
had  written  an  orchestral  work,  "Eine  Faust- 
ouverture,"  and  completed  his  opera  "Der 
fliegende  Hollander"  during  the  summer  of 
1841.  "Under  the  stress  of  the  most  terrible 
privations"  he  orchestrated  the  opera.  All 
efforts  to  have  it  accepted  failed.     He  sold 


Richard  Wagner  189 

the  French  rights  to  the  plot,  and  with  the 
proceeds  returned  to  Germany. 

The  performance  of  "Rienzi"  at  Dresden 
had  as  a  consequence  Wagner's  engagement 
at  the  Royal  Opera  House.  It  was  there 
that  "Der  fliegende  Hollander"  was  first 
given,  in  1843,  and  "Tannhauser"  in  1845. 
As  early  as  1848  he  began  to  sketch  a  libretto 
founded  on  the  Nibelungen  saga.  He  was 
compromised  in  the  revolutionary  May  riots 
of  1849  and  had  to  flee  from  Dresden.  He 
turned  to  Liszt  at  Weimar,  who  was  then 
preparing  a  performance  of  "Tannhauser"; 
but  on  learning  that  a  warrant  had  been 
issued  for  his  capture,  he  hurried  to  Paris, 
and  from  there  went  to  Zurich,  where  he 
arrived  in  June.  The  warrant,  in  giving  his 
signalement,  said  of  the  fugitive  that  "in 
moving  and  speaking,  he  is  hasty." 

During  his  stay  in  Switzerland  his  pen 
was  busier  with  literary  essays  than  with 
musical  compositions.  In  1852  he  made 
the   acquaintance   of   Otto    Wesendonck,    a 


190 Alia  Breve 

rich  merchant  whose  wife,  Mathilde,  was  as 
much  attracted  by  Wagner  as  she  attracted 
him;  their  friendship  proved  a  great  inspira- 
tion to  the  musician.  The  beginnings  of 
"Tristan  und  Isolde"  date  from  that  period. 
Although,  after  six  years,  misunderstandings 
led  to  a  break,  their  correspondence  con- 
tinued. In  1853  the  poem  of  theNibelungen 
tetralogy  was  privately  printed.  Wagner 
finished  the  composition  of  "Das  Rheingold" 
in  1854.  In  the  following  year  he  conducted 
a  series  of  orchestra  concerts  at  London. 
"Die  Walkure"  was  completed  in  1856; 
"Siegfried"  was  begun;  but  Wagner  laid 
aside  the  "Ring"  for  "Tristan." 

He  went  to  Venice,  late  in  August,  1858, 
and  found  quarters  in  one  of  the  ancient 
palazzi,  writing  in  his  Reminiscences:  "I 
gazed  down  from  my  balcony  with  growing 
satisfaction  on  the  wonderful  canal,  and 
said  to  myself  that  here  I  would  complete 
'Tristan'."     He  completed  only  the  second 


Richard  Wagner 191 

act  in  Venice;  the  third  was  finished  at 
Lucerne,  in  August,  1859. 

He  tried  his  luck  once  more  in  Paris,  in 
the  early  part  of  1860,  with  three  concerts 
which  created  hot  discussion.  They  were 
the  signal  for  animated  attack  and  defence; 
they  incited  Beaudelaire,  the  poet,  nobly 
and  intelligently  to  expound  the  merits  of 
a  music  that  musicians  scorned.  Though 
these  concerts  proved  a  financial  failure, 
they  led  to  the  notorious  performance  of 
"Tannhauser"  in  Paris  on  March  13,  1861. 

A  political  amnesty  made  it  possible  for 
Wagner  to  return  to  Germany.  "Tristan" 
was  accepted  at  Vienna,  but  after  57  re- 
hearsals it  had  to  be  abandoned  as  "im- 
possible." During  the  following  winter, 
Wagner  wrote  the  book  of  "Die  Meister- 
singer,"  the  first  sketches  of  which  date 
back  to  1845;  he  began  to  compose  the  music 
at  Bieberich,  on  the  Rhein,  in  1862.  The 
score  was  finished  five  years  later. 


192 Alia  Breve 

A  concert  tour  took  him  to  Leipzig,  St. 
Petersburg,    Moscow,    Pest,    Breslau,    and 
finally    back    to    Vienna.     Money    matters 
grew  constantly  worse;  he  moved  heaven  and 
earth  to  straighten  out  his  affairs.     He  left 
Vienna  to  seek  refuge  in  Switzerland,   and 
had  reached  Stuttgart,  in  the  spring  of  1864, 
when    an   emissary   from    King   Ludwig   II 
(who  had  just  ascended  the  Bavarian  throne) 
brought  him  a  letter  from  the  young  mon- 
arch,  inviting  him  to  Munich,   where   ease 
and  peace  should  be  his.      Providence  had 
intervened  at  the  most  critical  hour  and  in 
the  most  wonderful  manner.     Wagner  ended 
his  personal  Reminiscences,  which  extend  to 
this  point  with  these  words:  "The  dangerous 
road  along  which  Fate  beckoned  me  to  such 
great  ends,  was  not  destined  to  be   clear  of 
troubles  and  anxieties  of  a  kind  unknown  to 
me  heretofore,  but  I  was  never  again  to  feel 
the  weight    of   the    everyday    hardships    of 
existence  under  the  protection  of  my  exalted 
friend." 


Richard  Wagner 193 

Attentions    and    honors    were    showered 
on  Wagner  by  his  royal  benefactor.     Ludwig, 
the  dreamer  and  phantast,  did  all  he  could 
to   make   the   phantastic   musician's    dream 
come    true.     Thus    "Tristan    und    Isolde" 
was   brought  out   at   Munich  in   1865,   and 
three   years    later   "Die   Meistersinger"    re- 
ceived     a      brilliant      performance.        But 
jealousies    and    cabals    had    made    Wagner 
so  unpopular  in  Munich,  that  he  preferred 
to   return   to   the   country   that   had   given 
him   shelter   before.     He   settled   this    time 
at    Triebschen,    near    Lucerne,    where    he 
stayed   most  of  the   time   from   December, 
1865,  until  he  took  up  his  abode  at  Bayreuth 
in  1872.     He  married  Cosima  von  Biilow,  a 
daughter  of  Liszt,  in  August,  1870.    Writing, 
in   June,  to   a  friend   about   the   impending 
ceremony,   Wagner    said   of   his    wife:     She 
has  defied  all  disapprobation  and  taken  upon 
herself  every  condemnation.     She  has  borne 
to  me  a  wonderfully  beautiful  and  vigorous 
boy,  whom    I    could   boldly   call    Siegfried." 


194 Alia  Breve 

And  for  a  birthday  present,  on  December 
25  of  the  same  year,  Wagner  presented 
Cosima  with  the  wonderfully  beautiful  and 
tender  "Siegfried  Idyl." 

In  his  quest  for  the  idyllic  home  of  his 
fulness  and  the  site  of  his  perfect  stage, 
Wagner  had  chosen  Bayreuth.  A  theatre 
was  to  be  built  especially  for  his  Nibelungen 
tetralogy,  which  was  nearing  its  completion. 
The  cornerstone  of  the  "Festspielhaus"  was 
laid  on  Wagner's  birthday,  1872,  and  the 
first  performance  of  "The  Ring  of  the  Ni- 
belung"  was  given  there  in  its  entirety  in 
August,  1876.  The  large  deficit  was  covered 
by  the  foundation  of  numerous  Wagner  So- 
cieties the  world  over,  which  collected  funds 
by  the  performance  of  the  master's  works. 
"Parsifal,"  ruminated  for  a  long  time,  was 
written  during  1878  and  1879,  the  orchestra- 
tion was  finished  in  January,  1882,  and  this 
"Biihnenweihfestspiel"  had  its  first  public 
hearing  at  Bayreuth  in  the  summer  of  the 
same  year.     It  was  the  culmination  of  Wag- 


Richard  Wagner  195 

ner's  career.  Seeking  rest  from  his  exertions 
of  preparing  the  performance,  and  in  order 
to  improve  his  failing  health,  Wagner  spent 
the  winter  at  Venice.  Here,  at  the  palazzo 
Vendramin  on  the  Grand  Canal,  he  died  on 
February  13,  1883.  His  body  was  buried 
in  the  grounds  of  his  house  "Wahnfried"  at 
Bayreuth. 

It  matters  little,  to-day,  what  principles 
were  involved  in  Wagner's  reforms;  they 
have  conserved  only  historical  interest.  His 
"music  of  the  future"  belongs  now  to  the 
past,  no  matter  how  long  we  shall  continue 
to  enjoy  and  need  it.  Wagner  abolished 
in  his  operas  the  "aria"  and  all  other  mu- 
sical "numbers"  which  were  introduced  for 
the  music's  sake  alone.  To  him  the  dramatic 
continuity  of  the  play  was  paramount,  and 
in  order  to  maintain  it  he  invented  what  he 
called  the  "continuous  melody."  He  was 
the  first  to  label  consistently,  with  pertinent 
musical  motives  (Leitmotive),  certain  char- 
acters or  ideas  as  they  entered  and  reappeared 


196 Alia  Breve 

in  the  course  of  the  action.  But  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  all  these  innovations  would  have 
counted  for  little,  had  not  his  dramas 
possessed  such  grandeur,  his  melodies  such 
power,  his  motives  such  psychologic  truth. 
He  was  accused,  in  his  lifetime,  of  shunning 
"sweet  concord"  and  revelling  in  noise  and 
dissonance.  Each  advance  in  music  has  to 
be  fought  for  against  the  natural  prejudices 
of  "retarded  hearing."  The  lessons  of  yester- 
day should  make  us  cautious  in  judging  the 
harmonic  adventures  of  to-morrow.  There 
will  always  be  a  "music  of  the  future,"  which 
some  day  will  be  old  and  cherished  as  a 
patrimonial  treasure,  provided  it  be  so 
soundly  and  supremely  "musical"  as  was 
the  music  of  Richard  Wagner. 


XV 

VERDI 


Die  Verachter  italienischer  Musik  werden  einst 
in  der  Holle  ihrer  wohlverdienten  Strafe  nicht 
entgehen  und  sind  vielleicht  verdammt,  die  lange 
Ewigkeit  hindurch  nichts  anderes  zu  horen  als 
Fugen  von  Sebastian  Bach. 

— Heinrich  Heine 


XV 

GIUSEPPE  VERDI 

Three  centuries  of  Italian  opera  lie  be- 
tween the  first  real  attempt  at  this  form  of 
musico-dramatic  expression,  the  "Dafne" 
of  Rinuccini,  and  "Falstaff,"  the  octogenarian 
Verdi's  last  and  finest  work  for  the  stage. 
Rinuccini's  poem  with  the  music  by  Peri 
and  Corsi  was  performed  privately  in  Corsi's 
house  at  Florence,  some  time  after  1594 
and  before  1597.  Between  1600  and  1800, 
the  mythological  subject  of  Daphne's  change 
into  a  laurel  tree,  as  related  in  Ovid's  "Met- 
amorphoses," had  been  used  by  no  fewer 
than  fifteen  composers,  including  Handel. 
At  about  the  same  time  that  the  circle  of 
Florentine  dilettanti  was  experimenting  with 
"chanted  plays,"  substituting  the  solo  voice 
with  instrumental  accompaniment  for  the 
then  prevailing  type  of  choral  part-writing 
(chiefly   unaccompanied),    Shakespeare   was 

[199] 


200 Alia  Breve 

immortalizing  the  character  of  FalstafI  in 
his  "Henry  IV"  and  "The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor."  Falstaff  had  appeared  in 
fourteen  different  operas  before  Arrigo  Boito, 
poet  and  composer,  wrote  his  libretto  for 
Verdi,  whose  opera  was  first  presented  at 
La  Scala  in  Milan,  on  February  9,  1893. 

Not  until  1637,  at  Venice,  was  the  first 
opera  house  opened  to  the  general  public. 
These  novel  spectacles  soon  formed  the 
chief  attraction  of  the  Carnival  season,  not 
only  in  the  rich  and  pleasure-loving  Venetian 
republic,  but  at  all  the  courts  of  Italy,  great 
or  small.  The  rest  of  Europe  quickly 
followed  the  Italian  example.  It  became 
the  ambition  of  most  composers  to  write 
for  the  stage.  Church  music,  which  had 
attained  such  splendor  in  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries,  was  neglected,  and  even 
religious  compositions  now  seemed  written 
for  an  altar  that  was  lit,  not  by  the  mystic 
flickering  of  blessed  candles,  but  by  the  brazen 
glare  of  footlights.     A  successful  opera  was 


Giuseppe  Verdi 201 


a  lucrative  thing,  and  theatrical  managers 
everywhere  commissioned  prominent  mu- 
sicians to  write  new  works  for  each  succeeding 
season.  The  names  of  Draghi,  Leo,  Jom- 
melli,  Sarti,  Sacchini,  Paesiello,  Piccinni, 
Cimarosa,  to  mention  but  a  few,  stand  for 
so  many  battles  hotly  waged  in  the  boxes, 
pit  and  galleries— battles  for  the  public  favor 
of  a  moment,  fought  with  the  weapons  of 
intrigue,  invective,  tumultuous  applause  and 
merciless  catcalls.  It  was  the  age  that  gave 
birth  to  that  vainest,  most  petted  and 
highest-paid  artist,  the  opera  singer.  Over 
a  dulcet  aria  d'abilitd,  an  elaborate  roulade 
or  the  quality  of  a  trill  the  affairs  of  state 
and  civilization  were  forgotten;  or  again 
politics  seized  upon  the  make-believe  world 
of  flitter  and  tinsel,  and  in  the  guise  of  the 
play  and  to  the  tune  of  stirring  airs,  national 
questions  or  aspirations  became  a  public 
show,  with  an  audience  divided  by  party 
lines  rather  than  difference  of  musical  opinion. 


202  Alia  Breve 


The  opera  evolved,  and  with  it  pro- 
gressed music;  but  as  a  social  institution  it 
has  hardly  changed  since  its  inception.  In 
the  nineteenth  century  many  names  were 
added  to  the  long  roll  of  Italians  who 
achieved  fame  as  opera  composers,  great 
names  like  those  of  Donizetti,  Bellini  and 
Rossini — with  that  of  Verdi  to  crown  the 
list. 

Giuseppe  Verdi  was  born  October  10, 
1813,  at  Roncole,  a  village  near  the  little 
town  of  Busseto,  in  the  former  grand-duchy 
of  Parma.  He  was  therefore  only  seven 
months  younger  than  Richard  Wagner.  At 
the  time  of  his  birth,  Italy  formed  part  of 
the  French  empire,  under  Napoleon  I.  At 
Napoleon's  abdication  in  1814,  the  duchy 
of  Parma  was  allotted  to  Marie  Louise, 
Napoleon's  dethroned  wife  and  daughter 
of  the  Austrian  emperor.  The  subsequent 
rule  of  persecution  and  oppression,  how- 
ever, was  inspired  by  Vienna.  Verdi's  youth 
and  musical  development  coincided  with  the 


Giuseppe  Verdi  203 

period  of  Italian  struggle  for  emancipation 
from  the  Austrian  yoke.  His  parents  made 
a  meagre  living  by  keeping  an  inn  and  a 
small  shop  in  Roncole.  Although  brought 
up  in  the  humblest  surroundings,  it  was 
fortunate  that  Giuseppe  found  incentive 
and  understanding  for  his  talents  in  a  com- 
munity which  was  intensely  musical.  The 
village  organist  gave  him  his  first  lessons; 
the  father  bought  him  a  rickety  little  spinnet. 
In  time  he  was  sent  to  Busseto,  three  miles 
distant  from  Roncole,  to  get  what  rudi- 
mentary knowledge  the  school-teacher  had 
to  impart.  While  still  a  mere  lad  he  was 
chosen  to  succeed  the  old  organist  at  Ron- 
cole, who  had  died.  Every  Sunday  and 
holiday  saw  him  on  the  highroad,  walking 
the  three  miles  from  Busseto  to  the  little 
village  church,  where,  to  the  great  pride 
not  only  of  his  parents  but  of  all  the  wor- 
shippers, "Giuseppino"  fingered  the  clatter- 
ing keys  and  occasionally  stretched  his  little 


204  Alia  Breve 


foot  for   a   deep   pedal   note   that   mightily 
reverberated  from  the  vaulted  roof. 

Busseto  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  possess- 
ing an  orchestra  formed  by  capable  amateurs, 
under  the  direction  of  a  musician  named 
Provesi.  One  of  the  leading  spirits  in  this 
little  band  was  a  distiller,  Barezzi,  a  friend 
of  old  Verdi.  When  Giuseppe  had  finished 
his  school  education,  he  entered  the  employ 
of  Barezzi,  who  housed  and  treated  him  like 
a  son.  Barezzi  possessed  a  thing  very  rare 
for  those  days,  a  grand  piano  of  Viennese 
make;  he  also  possessed  a  pretty  and  musical 
daughter,  Margherita.  Young  Verdi  was 
much  attracted  by  both  the  precious  in- 
strument and  the  charming  girl.  His  studies 
in  counterpoint  and  composition  were  now 
directed  by  Provesi.  The  town  of  Busseto 
granted  him  a  stipend  which  enabled  him 
to  seek  further  and  better  instruction  in 
Milan.  But  upon  his  asking  for  admission 
to  the  Milan  conservatory  of  music,  it  was 
refused  by  the  director  on  account  of  "lack 


Giuseppe  Verdi 205 

of  technical  equipment."  Perhaps  this  is 
not  so  surprising  as  it  may  seem.  The 
academic  training  essential  in  an  institution 
of  that  kind,  Verdi  had  not  acquired.  Had 
he  been  brought  up  in  a  manner  conforming 
to  these  academic  standards,  his  natural 
impulse  might  have  been  dwarfed  or  diverted. 
He  might  have  become  an  obscure  composer 
of  creditable  masses  and  motets.  As  it  was, 
he  had  been  permitted  to  "grow  up  mu- 
sically" in  an  unsophisticated  world  where  a 
"tune"  counted  for  everything,  where  popular 
taste  was  all  for  le  belle  romanze.  However, 
while  the  doors  of  the  august  conservatory 
remained  closed  to  him,  he  found  an  ex- 
cellent teacher  in  Vincenzo  Lavigna,  con- 
ductor of  the  orchestra  at  La  Scala,  the  grand 
opera  house  of  Milan.  This  association  with 
theatrical  circles  had  a  directing  influence 
upon  Verdi's  development.  He  began  to 
compose  more  ambitious  works,  but  none  of 
them  had  significant  merits.  Upon  the  death 
of  Provesi,  in  1833,  the  boy  of  twenty  was 


206 Alia  Breve 

invited  to  return  to  Busseto  and  become  the 
successor  of  his  old  master  as  conductor  of 
the  little  orchestra  and  organist  at  the  cathe- 
dral. He  did  not  obtain  the  latter  position, 
because  of  strong  objections  from  part  of 
the  town  authorities  to  whom  the  young 
man's  musical  tendencies  seemed  altogether 
"too  worldly."  But  Barezzi  received  his 
protege  with  open  arms,  and  two  years  later 
accorded  him  the  hand  of  Margherita.  The 
little  town  did  not  offer  room  enough  for 
Verdi's  ambition;  therefore  he  went,  with 
his  wife  and  two  little  sons,  to  Milan  in  1837, 
intending  to  enter  the  operatic  field.  He 
found  a  librettist  in  the  nineteen-year-old 
poet  Temistocle  Solera,  and  in  1839  the  first 
fruit  of  their  collaboration,  "Oberto,  conte 
di  San  Bonifacio,"  was  successfully  produced 
at  La  Scala.  All  seemed  to  point  to  a 
splendid  future  for  the  youthful  composer. 
He  was  commissioned  to  write  a  comic  opera, 
and  was  in  the  midst  of  this  work,  when  his 
wife  and  both  his  children  died  within  the 


Giuseppe  Verdi  207 

space  of  two  months.  Under  such  mental 
stress  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  give  of  his 
best.  Although  he  completed  the  opera, 
it  was  a  failure.  Discouraged  by  so  much 
misfortune,  he  retired  to  Busseto.  But  he 
found  that  only  renewed  activity  could  really 
bring  the  oblivion  he  sought,  so  he  finally 
returned  to  Milan.  The  director  of  La 
Scala  offered  him  a  libretto  that  had  been 
rejected  by  Otto  Nicolai,  the  composer  of 
"The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor."  The  li- 
bretto was  that  of  "Nabucco,"  a  biblical 
story.  Verdi  felt  attracted  by  the  subject, 
and  went  to  work.  The 'success  of  the  pre- 
miere on  March  9,  1842,  decided  Verdi's 
future.  The  leading  soprano  in  the  cast  of 
"Nabucco"  was  Giuseppina  Strepponi,  who 
later  became  Verdi's  second  wife. 

From  that  point  on,  Verdi's  career  re- 
sembled that  of  all  other  Italian  opera 
composers  who  had  preceded  him.  Failures 
alternated  with  successes.  A  constant  de- 
mand for  new  works  left  no  time  to  ponder 


208 Alia  Breve 

over  either.  The  old  "opera  d'obbligo"  was 
still  necessary  to  the  Carnival  season,  and 
every  year  witnessed  these  rival  productions 
in  all  the  larger  cities  of  Italy.  On  February 
11,  1843,  "I  Lombardi,"  first  given  at  La 
Scala,  confirmed  Verdi's  operatic  ascendancy. 
Rossini  had  given  up  writing  operas;  Doni- 
zetti had  but  five  more  years  to  live,  with 
his  mental  powers  beginning  to  give  way; 
Bellini  had  died,  thirty-three  years  old,  in 
1835.  That  Wagner's  "The  Flying  Dutch- 
man" was  the  contemporary  of  Verdi's 
"Nabucco"  is  of  interest,  considering  that 
it  was  thirty  years 'before  the  Italian's  work 
became  in  the  slightest  degree  influenced  by 
the  German's  novel  procedures.  Eleven 
operas  had  followed  "I  Lombardi"  (with 
only  "Ernani,"  first  performed  March  9, 
1844,  as  a  striking  success)  before  "Rigo- 
letto,"  on  March  11,  1851,  set  Venice  literally 
wild  with  enthusiasm.  The  text,  fashioned 
upon  Victor  Hugo's  "Le  roi  s'amuse,"  had 
to  be  subjected  to  various  revisions  before  the 


Giuseppe  Verdi 209 


Austrian  censor  would  pass  it.     Verdi  was 
known  for  his  patriotic  sentiments.    Northern 
Italy  was  infested  with  spies,  paid  by  the 
Viennese    police.      Any    allusion,    however 
veiled,  to  governmental  abuses  or  longings 
for  independence,  was  ruthlessly  prosecuted. 
"Rigoletto"  was  followed  in  quick  succession 
by  "II  Trovatore"  and  "La  Traviata."    When 
"II  Trovatore"  was  sung  for  the  first  time,  in 
Rome  on  January  19,   1853,  the  Tiber  had 
overflowed    the    streets    of    the    city.     Yet, 
ankle-deep  in  water,  people  stood  at  the  gates 
from   nine  o'clock  in   the  morning,   on   the 
day  of  the   first   performance,   in   order   to 
gain    admission.       "La    Traviata"    seemed 
doomed   to  failure,   owing  to  the  poor   in- 
terpreters at  the  premiere.     Verdi  remained 
silent  for  four  years.     In  1855  followed  "The 
Sicilian  Vespers,"  written  for  the  Opera  in 
Paris.     "Un  Ballo  in  Maschera"  again  at- 
tracted  the   censor's  attention  in  1858,  and 
the  murdered  King  Gustavus  III  of  Sweden 
had  to  be  turned  into  a  "Governor  of  Bos- 


210 Alia  Breve 

ton,"  the  opera  coming  too  soon  after  the 
attempted  assassination  of  Napoleon  III  by 
the  Italian  Orsini.  But  Napoleon,  stirred  to 
action  at  last,  espoused  the  cause  of  Italy 
against  Austria,  and  after  the  battles  of 
Magenta  and  Solferino,  in  June,  1859,  the 
dream  of  a  United  Kingdom  of  Italy  was 
nearing  its  realization.  The  name  of 
VERDI,  standing  for  Vittore  Emanuele  Re 
d'ltalia,  became  the  battle-cry  of  the 
patriots. 

The  last  in  this  almost  uninterrupted 
chain  of  operas  was  also  the  revelation  of  a 
new  and  greater  Verdi.  It  was  "Aida," 
written  upon  command  of  the  Viceroy  of 
Egypt,  finished  in  1869,  and  performed  at 
Cairo  in  1871.  The  composer  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  cross  the  Mediterranean.  When 
the  opera  was  given  in  Europe,  Verdi  had  the 
satisfaction  of  winning  serious  and  enthusi- 
astic consideration  from  even  the  sternest 
music  critics,  who  had  up  to  that  time  spoken 
lightly  of  his  "melodic  facility  and  harmonic 


Giuseppe  Verdi  211 

shallowness."  But  what  seemed  to  these 
critics  the  composer's  splendid  swan-song, 
was  in  reality  only  the  first  of  three  works 
which  ultimately  showed  Verdi's  genius  at 
its  full  stature.  After  another  pause  of 
eighteen  years  he  gave  the  world  his  magnifi- 
cent "Otello."  In  his  eightieth  year,  1893 — 
as  though  at  last  in  the  happy  calm  of  old 
age  he  had  rediscovered  the  humorous  vein 
that  fifty-three  years  ago  the  annihilation 
of  his  young  family  had  cut — he  wrote  that 
masterful  "Falstaff,"  perhaps  the  finest  of 
all  Italian  comedy-operas,  sparkling  with 
youthfulness  and  subtle  musical  wit,  the 
ultimate  proof  of  Verdi's  consummate 
artistry. 

No  sum  of  honors  or  distinctions  could 
induce  Verdi  to  abandon  the  quietude  of  his 
country  estate  Sant'  Agata  near  his  native 
Busseto,  where  he  died  on  Jan.  27,  1901.  As 
a  landed  gentleman  he  preferred  to  live  the 
summers    amid    surroundings   beloved   since 


212  Alia  Breve 

childhood;  his  winters  were  passed  mostly 
at  Genoa. 

Much  of  Verdi's  inspiration  responded 
to  a  purely  popular  note.  No  composer's 
melodies  have  been  sung  and  whistled  by  a 
greater  number  of  people  than  were  his.  A 
Requiem  Mass,  composed  in  1874  in  memory 
of  the  poet  Manzoni,  is  more  theatrical  than 
churchly,  and  it  can  hardly  be  counted 
a  departure  from  Verdi's  style.  The  public 
of  Italy  that  attended  the  first  opera  per- 
formance at  Venice  in  1637  had  grown  into 
the  public  of  the  world.  And  that  public 
looked  to  Verdi  for  its  greatest  joys,  with 
almost  fanatic  devotion.  His  last  two 
operas,  revealing  all  his  ripened  mastery, 
are  those  least  performed.  It  is  still  the 
wealth  of  sensuous  melody  contained  in 
"Rigoletto,"  "II  Trovatore"  and  "Aida" 
that  sends  thrills  through  the  crowded  opera 
houses  of  both  hemispheres  and  perpetuates 
the  glory  of  Italian  opera  in  the  work  of 
Italy's  greatest  maestro. 


XVI 

FRANCK 


Tout  n'est  pas  lumiere  dans  cette  ame;  la  lumiere 
n'en  est  que  plus  emouvante  parce  qu'elle  brille 
au  loin. 

— Romain  Rolland 


XVI 

CESAR  FRANCK 

Cesar  (-Auguste)  Franck  was  born  in  the 
Belgian  town  of  Liege,  December  10,  1822. 
His  father,  a  stern  and  self-willed  man,  took 
it  into  his  head  to  make  musicians  of  his  two 
sons,  Joseph,  the  older  by  two  years,  and 
Cesar.  It  so  happened  for  once  that  this 
paternal  dictation  was  not  followed  by 
disaster,  but  helped  to  develop  at  least  one 
of  the  children  into  a  musical  genius  of  the 
first  order.  When  Cesar  was  eleven  years 
old,  he  played  the  piano  well  enough  to  under- 
take a  concert  tour  through  Belgium,  always 
accompanied  by  his  eager  and  watchful  sire. 
In  1835  the  boys  had  apparently  learned 
all  that  local  masters  could  teach  them,  and 
their  father  decided  to  take  them  to  Paris. 
Cesar's  first  teacher  there  was  Anton  Reicha, 
the  friend  of  Beethoven,  who  had  just  suc- 
ceeded  to   Boieldieu's   chair   in   the   French 

[215] 


216 Alia  Breve 

Academy,  an  honor  he  was  not  to  enjoy  very 
long,  for  he  died  in  the  following  year.  In 
1837  Cesar  became  a  pupil  in  the  Conserva- 
toire, which  he  reentered  thirty-five  years 
later  as  professor.  His  talents  received  due 
acknowledgment  from  the  faculty,  bringing 
him  even  an  "extraordinary"  prize  when,  at 
an  examination  in  sight-reading  in  1838,  he 
transposed  the  test  piece  a  minor  third  lower, 
playing  it  thus  without  the  shadow  of 
hesitancy.  But  even  so,  he  was  only  one 
of  the  countless  host  of  young  and  confident 
musicians  who,  armed  with  medals  and  di- 
plomas, go  every  year  into  the  cruel  fight 
for  existence,  out  of  which  the  majority 
comes  disappointed,  with  nothing  saved 
but  medals  and  diplomas.  As  far  as  arduous 
toil  and  lack  of  wordly  rewards  were  con- 
cerned, the  life  of  Cesar  Franck  differed  but 
little  from  the  run  of  academic  prize-winners, 
who  find  it  so  hard  afterwards  to  win  their 
pittance  of  daily  bread. 


Cesar  Franck  217 


Having  taken  organ  lessons  from  Benoist 
since  1841,  and  having  made  such  progress  in 
composition  under  Leborne's  tuition  that 
he  was  ready  to  compete  for  the  prize  of  all 
prizes,  the  one  that  led  to  Rome,  his  father 
suddenly  decreed  that,  for  financial  reasons, 
Cesar  should  take  up  the  career  of  a  vir- 
tuoso. Therefore,  instead  of  going  to  the 
Villa  Medicis,  young  Franck  had  to  traverse 
the  provinces,  playing  show  pieces  of  his 
own  and  others'  making,  to  thrill  rural 
audiences  at  the  thought  of  hearing  a 
medailliste. 

In  1844,  the  family  settled  permanently 
in  Paris.  From  that  time  on  until  his  death 
— a  little  less  than  half  a  century — Cesar 
Franck  taught  music.  We  must  discount, 
against  the  dozen  men  of  genuine  gifts 
who  in  the  course  of  time  came  under  his 
influence  and  valued  his  advice,  the  more 
than  hundred  dozen  lessons  that  this  gentle, 
conscientious  man  wasted  on  mediocrity. 


218 Alia  Breve 

Franck's  first  work  of  importance  was 
the  oratorio  "Ruth,"  performed  in  1846. 
Liszt  was  impressed  by  it,  as  we  may  see 
from  a  letter  of  his,  written  in  1854:  "Many 
years  ago  I  conceived  a  very  favorable 
opinion  of  the  talent  of  M.  Cesar  Franck 
as  a  composer  at  a  performance  of  his  Trios 
(very  remarkable,  in  my  opinion,  and  far 
superior  to  other  works  of  the  same  type 
published  these  last  few  years).  His  oratorio 
'Ruth'  also  contains  some  very  beautiful 
things  and  bears  the  stamp  of  an  elevated 
and  well  sustained  style." 

On  February  22,  1848,  in  the  midst  of 
the  revolution,  Franck  married  a  young 
actress;  fortunately  for  him,  she  was  made 
of  different  stuff  from  Berlioz's  Irish  "Ophe- 
lia." The  ceremony  took  place  at  Notre- 
Dame  de  Lorette,  where  Franck  had  been 
appointed  organist,  and  to  reach  it  the 
bridal  pair  and  guests  had  to  climb  over 
barricades  erected  by  insurgents.  Shortly, 
the    couple    left    the    parental    home    and 


Cesar  Franck  219 


founded  a  hearth  of  their  own.  In  1858 
Franck  became  choirmaster  at  Sainte-Clo- 
tilde,  and  a  little  later  was  made  organist 
at  the  same  church.  In  the  unrelieved 
shadow  of  this  organ-loft  Franck  spent  the 
better  part  of  his  life.  From  the  many- 
voiced  instrument,  whispering  softly  above 
the  murmured  prayers  of  the  worshippers  or 
shouting  triumphantly  its  Hosannas,  he 
often  lit  the  spark  of  composition  by  his 
superb  improvisation.  Franck  wrote  during 
these  years  much  sacred  music,  but  aside  from 
the  larger  oratorios,  like  "The  Beatitudes," 
on  which  he  worked  from  1869  to  1879,  and 
"Redemption"  (1873),  most  of  his  masses 
and  motets  are,  in  spite  of  his  sincere  religious 
fervor,  routine  music  fitted  to  churchly 
routine.  The  note  of  sublime  contriteness 
and  faith,  of  inexplicable  and  unshakable 
belief,  sounds  deepest  in  the  instrumental 
works  belonging  to  the  last  period  of  his 
life,  and  on  which  his  glory  rests. 


220 Alia  Breve 

Franck  became  the  successor  of  his 
teacher  Benoist  at  the  Conservatoire,  on  the 
latter's  retirement  in  1872.  And  as  a  simple 
professor  he  remained  at  that  institution 
until  his  death.  He  did  not  have  the 
aggressiveness  that  captures  worldly  honors. 
Comparatively  few  were  the  occasions  on 
which  he  was  permitted  the  joy  of  hearing 
his  own  music  played.  Outside  of  a  small 
circle  of  disciples,  his  worth  was  hardly 
recognized.  Several  symphonic  poems,  in- 
fluenced by  Liszt,  whom  he  greatly  revered, 
had  brought  his  name  before  the  larger 
public,  but  none  of  these  works  had  made 
a  decided  impression.  His  pupils  and  friends 
collected  funds  for  a  Franck  Festival,  which 
took  place  in  January,  1887,  but  the  ill- 
prepared  performance  was  far  from  satis- 
factory. When  his  Symphony  in  D  minor, 
dedicated  to  his  pupil  Henri  Duparc,  was 
first  performed,  most  of  the  critics  did  not 
know  what  to  make  of  it.  But  Franck  was 
satisfied,    and,    on   returning   home,   he   an- 


Cesar  Franck  221 


swered  his  family's  impatient  queries  about 
the  reception  of  the  work  with  a  simple: 
"Oh,  it  sounded  well;  just  as  I  thought  it 
would!"  In  April,  1890,  the  composer  had 
the  satisfaction  of  his  first  real  success,  when 
the  remarkable  string  quartet  was  played  by 
Eugene  Ysaye  and  his  associates  at  a  con- 
cert of  the  Societe  Nationale,  of  which 
Franck  was  a  founder  and  of  which  he  had 
been  elected  president. 

In  May  of  the  same  year,  on  his  way  to 
one  of  his  pupils,  he  was  run  into  by  an 
omnibus  and  severely  injured.  He  rallied 
slowly,  but  in  the  Autumn  he  had  an  attack 
of  pleurisy  to  which  he  succumbed  on  No- 
vember 8,  1890.  His  funeral  was  simple; 
the  mourners  included  but  few  representa- 
tives of  musical  Paris.  France  was  not 
aware  then  that  a  very  great  master  had 
passed  away. 

The  ripest  works  that  Franck  has  left  us 
had  their  origin  after  1872.  They  include 
the  symphony,  the  string  quartet,  the  piano 


222  Alia  Breve 

quintet,  the  sonata  for  violin  and  piano, 
the  two  triptychs  for  piano  alone — namely, 
the  "Prelude,  Choral  and  Fugue"  (1884) 
and  the  "Prelude,  Aria  and  Finale"  (1887) — 
and  his  last  work,  the  three  monumental 
chorales  for  organ.  These  show  Franck's 
final  manner  and  full  mastery.  He  possessed 
to  an  uncommon  degree  what  one  might 
call  the  instinct  of  counterpoint.  He  de- 
lighted, in  the  artful  interweaving  of  themes, 
in  which  the  independence  of  the  organ 
manuals  and  pedals  had  liberally  trained 
him.  With  a  polyphonic  dexterity  equalled 
only  by  Bach,  he  combined  a  love  for  sen- 
suous suavity  and  brilliant  emphasis  peculiar 
to  Liszt.  Wholly  of  his  own  devising  are 
the  extraordinary  mobility  and  felicitousness 
of  his  modulations.  The  inflections  of  his 
short  but  pregnant  melodic  phrases  are  as 
unmistakably  "Franckian"  as  certain  shifting 
progressions  of  his  harmony.  His  "generat- 
ing motive,"  the  kernel  of  endless  per- 
mutations in  the  progress  of  a  work,  enhanced 


Cesar  Franc k  223 


at  each  reappearance  with  new  color  and 
added  import,  has  marked  a  whole  epoch 
in  musical  composition;  the  "cyclic"  form, 
so  much  favored  by  him,  threatened  for  a 
time  to  exercise  an  undue  tyranny  over  the 
methods  of  his  followers.  His  leaning  to- 
ward rhythmic  squareness  is  not  always 
helpful  to  the  general  effect.  His  music  was 
slow  in  gaining  universal  esteem;  but  as  so 
often  with  the  work  of  a  neglected  genius, 
posterity,  once  it  had  awakened  to  the  beauty 
of  that  music,  proceeded  to  bestow  on  it  the 
doubtful  favor  of  making  it  a  household 
necessity  and  a  program  certainty. 

Franck's  nature  was  humble,  pious  and 
kind.  Apparently  unwearied  by  his  constant 
drudgery,  he  seized  what  spare  moments  he 
found  to  let  the  source  of  his  imaginings  yield 
him  the  ecstatic  mood  in  which  his  master- 
works  were  born.  Sometimes  we  hear  an 
outcry  in  this  music,  a  rattling  at  the  prison 
gates  of  earthly  confining,  and  we  begin 
to  wonder  if  the  devout  mind  of  this  Catholic 


224  Alia  Breve 


was  never  subjected  to  doubt  or  to  the 
experiences  of  Saint  Anthony.  The  loveli- 
ness of  some  ingratiating  melody,  the  red- 
blooded  sensuousness  of  some  bold  harmonic 
progression,  followed  by  awesome  pages  of 
hopeless  gloom,  hint  at  the  complicated 
mentality  which  belonged  to  this  outwardly 
amiable  and  simple  man.  He  reminds  one 
of  the  painter-monks  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
who  blended  in  the  traits  of  smiling 
Madonnas  their  sacred  hopes  and  secular 
regrets.  The  mysticism  of  that  little  music 
teacher  with  the  gray  side-whiskers,  who 
gave  piano  lessons  at  three  francs  an  hour  to 
anaemic  daughters  of  "our  better  people,"  is 
the  longing  for  a  Paradise  in  which  the  saints 
of  heaven  betray  their  Olympian  ancestry. 
In  spite  of  forty  years,  cloistered  in  a  dim 
organ-loft  where  the  stale  odor  of  yesterday's 
incense  lingered  always,  his  nostrils  seem 
to  have  caught — as  if  remembering  a  foregone 
incarnation — the  rich  and  pungent  smell  of 
the  salt  sea  and  mountain  laurel  that  sultry 


Cesar  Franck  225 


winds  are  blowing  around  the  rocks  of 
Naxos,  lost  in  the  blue  y£gean  and  dreaming 
of  Ariadne.  That  is  the  wonder  of  Franck's 
finest  music,  this  pagan  passion,  illuminated 
with  the  patient  and  multi-colored  artistry 
of  medieval  missals. 


XVII 

BRAHMS 


Besides  temporary  or  accidental  biases,  there 
seem  to  be  sects  and  parties  in  taste  and  criticism 
(with  a  set  of  appropriate  watch  words)  coeval 
with  the  arts  and  composition,  and  that  will  last 
as  long  as  the  difference  with  which  men's  minds 
are  originally  constituted. 

—  William  Hazlitt 


XVII 

JOHANNES  BRAHMS 

Nothing  in  the  comparatively  quiet  life 
of  Brahms  was  so  resounding  as  his  entrance 
into  the  musical  arena.  Heralded  by  Schu- 
mann in  the  famous  article  of  the  Neue 
Zeitschrift  fur  Musik  (October  23,  1853)  as 
sprung  "like  Minerva  fully  armed  from  the 
head  of  Jove,"  welcomed  as  "a  young  blood 
by  whose  cradle  graces  and  heroes  kept 
watch,"  the  twenty-year-old  composer  had 
gained  a  reputation  overnight.  But  it  was 
a  reputation  that  he  had  to  fight  for  and  live 
up  to,  nevertheless,  amid  the  strife  of 
opposing  "tendencies."  The  romanticist 
Schumann  claimed  discovery  of  "the  elect" 
who  would  lead  music  along  "new  paths," 
letting  it  be  understood  that  they  were  a 
prolongation  of  the  road  which  Schumann 
himself  had  taken.  The  followers  of  Liszt, 
on  the  other  hand — always  eager  to  enroll 

[229] 


230 Alia  Breve 

"young  blood"  under  the  banner  of  Wagner's 
young  Germany" — were  ready  to  count  this 
startling  newcomer  among  their  number. 
Brahms  disappointed  both,  romanticists  as 
well  as  progressives.  He  was,  and  remained, 
a  modern  classicist  and,  as  such,  a  thing 
apart  in  music. 

In  thanking  Schumann,  the  bewildered 
recipient  of  so  high  an  honor  wrote:  "The 
public  praise  you  have  bestowed  on  me  will 
have  fastened  general  expectation  so  ex- 
ceptionally upon  my  performances  that  I  do 
not  know  how  I  shall  be  able  to  do  any 
justice  to  it."  Natural  as  such  doubt  may 
seem,  it  does  not  appear  to  have  bothered 
Brahms  very  much.  While  not  insensible 
to  homage  paid  by  the  public,  and  valuing 
particularly  the  appreciation  of  kindred 
spirits,  he  went  his  own  way  stolidly  so  far  as 
concerned  the  quarrels  of  "Philistines"  and 
"Reformers." 

Brahms  and  Wagner,  though  contempo- 
raries, were  contrary  poles.      Simultaneous 


Johannes  Brahms  231 

but  opposite  currents  are  not  uncommon  in 
art.  The  relation  between  Wagner  and 
Brahms,  twenty  years  younger,  is  approxi- 
mately the  same  as  that  between  Leonardo 
da  Vinci  and  Albrecht  Durer,  the  younger 
by  nineteen  years.  Wagner  and  Leonardo 
are  the  painters  and  psychologists,  Durer 
and  Brahms  the  anatomists  and  draftsmen. 
Durer  visited  Venice,  but  his  contact  with 
the  colored  opulence  of  the  Italians  did  not 
alter  his  manner.  Brahms  passed  the  better 
part  of  his  life  during  the  turbulent  ascend- 
ancy of  "representative  music"  as  Liszt 
and  Wagner  understood  it:  and  yet  he  kept 
faith  with  the  traditions  of  "absolute  music." 
He  shunned  Bayreuth.  In  1882,  when  "Par- 
sifal" was  to  be. given  its  first  performance, 
he  wrote  to  Hans  von  Bulow,  who  pressed 
for  his  acceptance  of  an  invitation:  "The 
fact  that  I  cannot  come  to  a  decision  about 
Bayreuth  probably  means  that  I  am  unable 
to  produce  that  'Yes'.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  I  go  in  dread  of  the  Wagnerians,  who 


232  Alia  Breve 

would  spoil  my  pleasure  in  the  best  of 
Wagners."     He  never  took  the  risk. 

In  more  ways  than  one,  Brahms  suggests 
the  bearded,  curly-haired  master  of  Nurem- 
berg, the  artisan,  man  of  the  people,  humble 
and  indefatigable  worker,  patient  elaborator 
of  detail,  whose  burin  delighted  in  formal 
arrangement,  fanciful  ornament,  variation 
of  pattern,  boldness  of  outline,  and  knew 
how  to  light  the  depths  of  darkness  by  rays 
of  a  mysterious  glitter.  The  processes  of 
different  arts  should  never  be  confounded. 
A.nd  yet,  by  borrowing  the  terminology  of 
one,  the  intent  of  another  is  often  explained. 
If  chamber-music  is  the  etching  of  tonal  art, 
then  Brahms  may  be  justly  called  the 
Diirer  among  musicians. 

Johannes  Brahms  came  of  peasant  stock. 
His  ancestors  had  lived  in  the  marshy  low- 
lands of  Holstein,  in  the  heath  country  of 
Liineburg.  He  was  born  May  7,  1833,  at 
Hamburg.  His  father  played  the  double- 
bass  in  a  theatre  orchestra.     His  principal 


Johannes  Brahms  233 

teacher  of  piano  and  theory  was  Eduard 
Marxsen,  to  whom  Brahms  later  dedicated 
his  second  piano  concerto.  In  1847,  Jo- 
hannes played  for  the  first  time  in  public. 
Other  appearances,  with  increasing  success, 
followed  in  1848.  Years  of  struggle  marked 
that  period  of  Brahms's  youth,  like  the 
beginnings  of  so  many  great  musicians. 
He  played  for  dances,  arranged  music,  and 
earned  a  few  Groschen  wherever  he  could. 
He  began  to  work  on  his  first  compositions 
of  importance,  among  which  two  piano 
sonatas  bear  the  opus-numbers  1  and  2. 

When  the  Hungarian  violinist  Remenyi 
visited  Hamburg,  in  1852,  Brahms  joined 
him  as  accompanist.  It  was  through  Re- 
menyi that  he  first  learned  to  know  and  love 
Hungarian  dance-music,  and  was  introduced 
to  Remenyi's  countryman,  the  young  violin 
virtuoso  Joseph  Joachim.  The  friendship 
of  Brahms  and  Joachim  was  lifelong.  Jo- 
achim was  instrumental  in  sending  Brahms 
to    Liszt    at    Weimar,    where    the    shy    and 


234  Alia  Breve 


nervous  Johannes  made  no  impression.  Jo- 
achim urged  Brahms  to  seek  Schumann,  at 
Dusseldorf,  and  in  the  course  of  a  journey 
along  the  Rhein,  in  the  autumn  of  1853,  the 
notable  meeting  took  place.  From  that  date 
Brahms  came  forward  as  an  acknowledged 
composer  of  highest  ideals.  In  steady  growth 
his  talents  ripened  and  broadened  along  lines 
that  were  rather  a  continuation  of  classic 
forms  than  the  branching  out  in  new  direc- 
tions. 

There  are  not  many  events  to  record 
which  mark  a  change  in  his  activities.  From 
1854-58  he  was  director  of  music  at  the 
court  of  Lippe-Detmold,  a  sleepy  little 
duchy.  His  occupation  left  him  much  leisure 
to  compose.  But  he  longed  for  livelier 
surroundings.  In  1860  he  spent  some  time 
at  Winterthur,  in  Switzerland,  to  be  with 
the  musician  Theodor  Kirchner.  Biilow 
wrote  in  1853:  "Winterthur  is  several  de- 
cades more  advanced  than  Munich." 
Brahms    appeared    occasionally    in    public, 


Johannes  Brahms  235 

playing   mostly   his   own   compositions,   but 
he   abhorred   concert   tours. 

A  turning-point  in  the  life  of  Brahms 
was  his  visit  to  Vienna,  in  1862,  and  his 
subsequent  choice  of  the  Austrian  capital 
as  his  permanent  abode.  He  felt  attracted 
by  the  light-hearted  characteristics  of  the 
Viennese  and  their  proverbial  love  for  music. 
From  1863-64  he  conducted  the  Vienna 
Singakademie,  and  from  1871-74  the  con- 
certs of  the  "Society  of  the  Friends  of  Mu- 
sic." These  were  the  only  "official" 
positions  he  held  in  Vienna.  They  may 
have  contributed  an  incentive  to  the  writing 
of  Brahms'  two  greatest  choral  works,  the 
"German  Requiem"  (1867)  and  the  "Song 
of  Fate"  (1871).  The  first  is  a  Christian, 
the  second  a  pagan  interpretation  of  mortal 
woes  and  heavenly  blessings,  of  life  and  death 
and  immortality.  Eduard  Hanslick,  the 
Viennese  critic  and  perfervid  apostle  of 
Brahms,  wrote:  "Since  Bach's  B  minor 
Mass  and  Beethoven's  Missa  solemnis,  noth- 


236  Alia  Breve 


ing  had  been  written,  in  kind,  to  compare 
with  the  'German  Requiem'." 

His  systematic  and  assiduous  labors 
were  interrupted  only  by  travels  and  vaca- 
tions, every  year,  in  some  summer  resort  or 
other.  He  was  a  child  of  nature  and  never 
happier  than  when  he  could  escape  the  tur- 
moil of  city  life,  to  find  peace  and  inspiration 
in  absolute  abandonment  to  wood  or  moun- 
tain, lake  or  sea.  He  seldom  made  plans: 
"My  movements  depend  on  my  whim,  the 
weather  and  various  attractions  that  may 
offer."  When  the  time  came  to  leave  his 
plain  but  comfortable  bachelor  quarters 
in  Vienna,  he  would  seek  congenial  com- 
panions and  set  out  to  explore  the  natural 
beauties  or  artistic  wealth  of  foreign  places. 
One  of  his  friends  gives  this  description  of 
him  on  such  an  excursion:  "He  was  most  at 
his  ease  in  a  striped  flannel  shirt,  without 
either  tie  or  stiff  collar:  even  his  soft  felt  hat 
was  more  often  carried,  in  his  hand  than 
on  his  head.     In  bad  weather  a  brownish- 


Johannes  Brahms  237 

gray  shawl,  thrown  around  the  shoulders 
and  fastened  on  the  breast  with  a  huge  pin, 
completed  the  curious  unfashionable  attire 
at  which  people  gazed  in  astonishment." 
Brahms  greatly  cared  for  Italy.  When  he 
visited  Sicily  with  his  friend  Billroth,  the 
famous  surgeon  wrote  from  Taormina  to 
Hanslick:  "Five  hundred  feet  above  the 
murmuring  waves!  Full  moon!  Intoxicating 
scent  of  orange  blossoms,  red  cactus  blooming 
as  richly  on  the  huge,  picturesque  rocks  as 
moss  does  with  us!  Forests  of  palms  and 
lemons,  Moorish  castles,  well-preserved 
Greek  theatre!  The  broad  line  of  snow- 
clad  Etna,  the  pillar  of  flame!  Add  to  this 
a  wine  called  Monte  Venere!  Above  all, 
Johannes  in  ecstasy!'1'' 

The  correspondence  of  Brahms  affords 
helpful  glimpses  into  the  workings  of  his 
mind,  especially  with  regard  to  the  history 
of  some  of  his  compositions.  But  he  was 
not  a  brilliant  letter-writer,  nor  did  he  have 
illusions  on  that  point,  as  may  be  seen  from 


238 Alia  Breve 

what  he  wrote,  in  1883,  to  George  Henschel, 
then  in  Boston:  "I  beg  you  once  for  all  to 
remember  that  with  me  the  moment  is  still 
to  come  when  I  shall  write  the  first  letter 
with  pleasure!"  His  aversion  to  public  ap- 
pearances prompted  him  to  write,  at  another 
time:  "I  hardly  think  I  shall  allow  myself 
to  be  persuaded  to  give  concerts;  but  to 
listen,  to  enjoy,  and  afterwards  to  drink  with 
you — all  that  I  do  to  perfection."  He  was 
a  connoisseur  in  matters  of  his  two  most 
delectable  brews,  coffee  and  beer.  Though 
he  always  liked  solitude  when  engaged  in 
work,  he  found  social  intercourse  and  frank 
gaiety  no  less  necessary.  An  early  riser, 
temperate  of  habits,  he  led  a  calm  and  happy 
existence  to  which  the  ordinary  griefs  of  life 
and  the  extraordinary  joys  of  great  artistic 
achievements  brought  their  contrasting  emo- 
tions.    He  died  at  Vienna,  April  3,  1897. 

The  music  of  Brahms  derives  much  of  its 
peculiar  charm  from  two  widely  differing 
elements.     The  composer's  fondness  for  the 


Johannes  Brahms 239 

lyrical  expressions  of  the  common  people  is 
not  only  evidenced  by  his  many  and  ex- 
quisite arrangements  of  folk-songs;  it  leads 
him  often  to  imitate  this  artlessness  in  the 
melodic  contours  of  his  own  invention. 
Joined  to  this  homely  tenderness  or  vigor 
is  the  delight — and  sometimes  the  absorp- 
tion— in  a  learned  and  cunning  manipulation 
of  his  material,  producing  the  very  opposite 
of  simplicity.  Even  Hanslick  had  to  admit 
this  "noble  but  dangerous  inclination  to 
conceal  his  ideas  under  a  web  of  poly- 
phony." Modern  in  the  sense  that  he 
sounded  a  personal  note  in  his  music,  he 
nevertheless  was  a  classicist  by  his  adher- 
ence to  standard  forms,  albeit  his  freedom 
in  the  employment  of  these  forms  gives  them 
the  appearance  of  ample  and  harmonious 
raiment  rather  than  of  confining  bounds. 
The  compositions  in  which  the  art  of  Brahms 
unfolds  itself  most  fully  are  his  chamber 
music,  many  of  his  songs,  and  several  of  his 
pieces  for  the  piano.     His  four  symphonies 


240 Alia  Breve 

contain  lofty  ideas  and  passages  of  exalted 
loveliness,  as  well  as  stretches  that  drag 
laboriously  and  drearily  along.  The  many- 
voiced  orchestra  did  not  always  yield  him 
the  richness  of  sonority  that  he  could  draw 
from  a  trio  or  quartet  of  instruments,  united 
in  the  noblest  type  of  "absolute"  music. 
His  Horn-trio  (Op.  40),  the  Piano-quintet 
(Op.  34),  the  Piano-trios  (Op.  8  and  101), 
together  with  the  Clarinet-quintet  (Op.  115), 
are  as  plates  imprinted  with  the  mark  of 
genius,  in  which  the  etcher  conjures  up 
vaulted  domes,  glittering  facades,  or  the 
transcendent  landscapes  of  the  soul. 


XVIII 

TSCHAIKOWSKY 


We  have  an  instinctive  sense  of  the  fugitive  and 
perishing  nature  of  all  sweet  things, — of  beauty, 
of  youth,  of  life;  of  all  those  fair  shows  of  the  world, 
of  which  music  seems  to  be  the  voice,  and  of  whose 
transitory  nature  it  reminds  us  most  when  it  is 
most  beautiful,  because  it  is  then  that  we  most 
regret  our  mortality. 

— Leigh  Hunt 


XVIII 

PETER  ILJITCH  TSCHAIKOWSKY 

The  musician  Tschaikowsky,  although  at 
times  as  Russian  as  any  of  his  musical  com- 
patriots and  contemporaries,  was  not  so 
strongly  "of  the  soil,"  not  so  much  reared 
on  Slavic  folk-tunes  or  nurtured  by  Asiatic 
influences,  as  were,  for  instance,  Balakiref, 
Moussorgsky  or  Rimsky-Korsakof.  Nor 
was  he  fond  of  the  parochial  pose.  What  he 
coined  had  not  merely  national  currency; 
his  music  bore  on  its  face  the  stamp  of  genius 
and  on  the  reverse  showed  the  mark  of 
universal  circulation,  which  in  all  art  is 
sensuous  beauty.  The  man  Tschaikowsky, 
on  the  other  hand,  as  much  "of  the  world" 
as  he  was — at  home  in  Paris,  Venice  or  Vien- 
na, not  less  than  in  St.  Petersburg  or  Tiflis — 
never  could  free  himself  from  racial  fetters, 
and  always  remained  Russian  to  the  core. 
Hence    that    morbid    sensibility,     self-love, 

[243] 


244 Alia  Breve 

exaggeration  in  despair  or  pride,  which  are 
revealed  in  the  diaries  and  letters  of  this 
curiously  introspective  mind.  What  could 
be  more  characteristic  than  the  hopeless 
cry:  "Poor  Russia!  Everything  there  is  so 
depressing  .  .  .  ,"  and  the  fatalistic  resigna- 
tion of  "Let  come,  what  may!"  It  is  the 
Slavic  soul  laid  bare. 

Peter,  the  son  of  Ilja  Tschaikowsky,  was 
born  May  7,  1840,  at  the  small  town 
of  Wotkinsk,  where  his  father  was  inspector 
of  the  mines.  The  boy's  musical  talents 
were  neither  precocious,  nor  did  he  seem 
to  be  drawn  toward  music  with  indomitable 
force.  He  offered  no  serious  resistance  to 
his  father's  wish  that  he  should  study  law. 
He  entered  the  government  service  and 
worked  for  a  time  at  the  Ministry  of  Justice 
in  St.  Petersburg.  His  acquaintance  with 
musicians  like  the  brothers  Rubinstein — 
Anton  and  Nikolai — however,  gave  his 
tastes  and  ambitions  a  different  direction, 
and    when   Anton    became    instrumental    in 


Peter  Iljitch   Tschaikozusky  245 

founding  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatory, 
in  1862,  Peter  entered  the  institution  as  a 
student  of  harmony  and  composition.  His 
quick  progress  made  it  possible  for  him,  four 
years  later,  to  join  the  faculty  of  the  Mos- 
cow Conservatory,  founded  and  directed  by 
Nikolai  Rubinstein.  He  retained  his  position 
on  the  teaching  staff  until  1877.  He  was  en- 
abled to  relinquish  his  onerous  and  rather 
unremunerative  task  through  the  generosity 
of  Nadejda  von  Meek,  widow  of  a  rich  rail- 
road engineer,  who  not  only  helped  him  out 
of  his  momentary  embarrassment  by  paying 
his  debts,  but  settled  on  him  a  yearly  stipend 
of  6000  rubles  (33000),  that  he  might  enjoy 
the  leisure  necessary  to  undisturbed  crea- 
tion and  find  artistic  incentive  in  travelling 
through  foreign  lands.  This  strange  bene- 
factor lived  most  of  the  time  as  a  recluse  on 
her  estates;  she  and  her  protege  intentionally 
never  met  face  to  face,  but  they  kept  up  an 
extended  and  intimate  correspondence 
through   nearly  fifteen   years.     In   her  first 


246 Alia  Breve 

letter  to  Tschaikowsky,  December,  1876, 
she  told  him  that  his  music  made  "life  easier 
and  pleasanter  to  live."  This  unusual  friend- 
ship, while  it  lasted,  was  a  great  inspiration 
to  the  composer.  When  it  ended  in  1891 
for  reasons  which  were  supposed  to  lie  in 
the  financial  ruin  that  threatened  Mme.  von 
Meek;  when  all  payments  and  letters  from 
her  stopped,  Tschaikowsky  wrote:  "The 
inconceivable  has  happened,  and  all  my 
ideas  of  human  nature,  all  my  faith  in  the 
best  of  mankind,  have  been  turned  upside 
down.  My  peace  is  broken,  and  the  share 
of  joy  which  fate  has  allotted  me  is  em- 
bittered and  spoilt."  Tschaikowsky  died 
at  St.  Petersburg,  November  6,  1893,  dur- 
ing a  cholera  epidemic,  whispering,  it  is 
said,  the  name  of  her  who  had  procured 
him  so  much  happiness  and  dealt  him  such 
a  staggering  blow. 

Tschaikowsky's  music,  more  perhaps 
than  that  of  most  great  masters,  suffers 
from  a  certain  unevenness.     His  inspiration 


Peter  Iljitch   Tschaikowsky  247 

was  not  unflagging;  he  confessed  to  times 
of  mental  depression,  when  work  seemed 
particularly  hard.  And  yet,  in  the  finest  of 
his  orchestral  pages,  in  some  of  his  chamber 
music,  and  certain  portions  of  his  operas, 
he  plumbs  unfathomed  depths  of  pathos  or 
mounts  rare  heights  of  ecstasy.  His  instru- 
mentation is  always  rich  and  brilliant;  it  does 
not  shrink  from  blatant  and  barbaric  colors; 
often  it  is  novel  and  haunting.  He  is  in- 
clined to  be  spectacular  or  over-sentimental. 
Shakespeare's  melancholy  Prince  of  Den- 
mark and  unhappy  lovers  of  Verona  serve 
him  as  welcome  pegs  on  which  to  hang  his 
own  moods  and  disillusionment.  Poush- 
kin's  nostalgic  "Eugene  Oniegin"  and  fan- 
tastic "Queen  of  Spades"  are  chosen  as 
opera-libretti;  Byron's  sombre  and  roman- 
tic "Manfred"  is  provided  with  a  symphonic 
background.  The  love  of  the  Russians  for 
elaborate  ballets  is  responsible  for  some  of 
his  most  charming  and  graceful  music.  Many 
pieces   for  the    piano    and    numerous    songs 


248 Alia  Breve 

were  written  in  an  endeavor  to  give  his 
publisher  "short  things"  that  the  public 
would  buy.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  public 
bought  a  great  deal  of  his  music,  and  not 
alone  in  Russia.  His  works  were  produced 
in  Germany  and  France  as  early  as  1878. 
Ten  years  later  his  fame  was  international. 
In  1891  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  come  to 
America,  to  assist  in  the  inauguration  of 
Carnegie  Hall,  New  York.  This  journey 
made  strong  and  varied  impressions  on  him. 
We  find  in  his  diary  these  entries:  "I  am 
convinced  that  I  am  ten  times  more  famous 
in  America  than  I  am  in  Europe." — "The 
Americans  strike  me  as  very  remarkable." — 
"We  went  to  see  the  Brooklyn  Bridge. 
From  there  we  went  to  see  Schirmer,  who 
owns  the  largest  music  business  in  America. 
Schirmer  begged  to  be  allowed  to  publish 
some  of  my  compositions." — "The  houses 
downtown  are  simply  colossal  [1891!];  I  can- 
not understand  how  any  one  can  live  on  the 


Peter  Iljitch   Tschaikowsky  249 

13th  floor!" — "Quite  the  worst  part  of  a 
sea-voyage  is  having  to  know  all  the  pas- 
sengers on  board." 

But  not  only  of  this  American  visit  do 
we  find  an  interesting  account  in  these  notes 
and  letters  of  Tschaikowsky.  We  learn  to 
know  a  singular  musician  who  adored  Mo- 
zart and  hated  Handel,  worshipped  Schu- 
mann and  saw  little  in  Chopin,  thought  the 
world  of  Grieg,  but  wrote  after  hearing 
Tristan  una1  Isolde  for  the  first  time  in  Ber- 
lin, January,  1883 :  "The  work  does  not 
give  me  any  pleasure,  although  I  am  glad 
to  have  heard  it,  for  it  has  done  much  to 
strengthen  my  previous  views  of  Wagner." 
We  read  of  his  infatuation  for  Bizet's  Car- 
men, which  he  pronounces  the  ideal  opera; 
from  Rome  he  writes  in  December,  1881: 
"Liszt's  works  leave  me  cold."  He  de- 
lights in  the  fluent  melodies  of  Delibes' 
ballet  Sylvia,  and  says  of  Brahms:  "He 
has  no  charms  for  me."  His  estimate  of 
the   "Russian   School"   is   significant.     "Cui 


250 Alia  Breve    

is  an  amateur.  .  .  .  Borodin  has  not  as 
much  taste  as  Cui,  and  his  technique  is  so 
poor  that  he  cannot  write  a  bar  without 
assistance."  Moussorgsky  is  "used  up" 
and  "likes  what  is  coarse,  unpolished  and 
ugly."  Rimsky-Korsakof,  in  his  opinion, 
is  the  best  in  this  circle  of  five,  but  he  sums 
up  his  verdict  in  characterizing  Balakiref 
as  the  head  of  a  group  that  "unites  so  many 
undeveloped,  falsely  developed,  or  pre- 
maturely decayed,  talents." 

In  one  of  his  first  letters  to  Mme.  von 
Meek  he  tried  to  account  for  their  mutual 
sympathy  by  a  common  bond  which  linked 
them  together,  and  which  consisted,  as 
he  put  it,  in  their  "suffering  from  the  same 
malady,"  namely,  misanthropy.  Tschaikow- 
sky  is  at  his  best  when  he  feels  worst,  nor 
is  this  meant  facetiously.  The  man  who 
could  write  from  Rome:  "My  brother  and 
I  have  just  been  to  see  St.  Peter's;  all  I 
have  gained  by  it  is  overwhelming  physical 
fatigue";      who      (half-humorously     only!) 


Peter  Iljitch   Tschaikowsky  251 

called  music  "this  detestable  art,  which 
seems  to  possess  the  quality  of  interesting 
everybody" — this  man  succeeded,  as  no 
one  else  has,  in  expressing  by  means  of 
music  a  temperament  distinctly  perverse, 
though  peculiarly  human.  And  therefore 
the  Symphonie  pathetique  and  Francesca  da 
Rimini  will  probably  carry  his  name  down 
to  many  another  generation  afflicted  with 
the  heritage  of  that  "same  malady,"  and 
finding  balm  in  listening  to  these  superbly 
poignant  works. 


XIX 

GRIEG 


Only  by  contact  with  the  art  of  foreign  nations 
does  the  art  of  a  country  gain  that  individual  and 
separate  life  which  we  call  nationality. 

—Oscar  Wilde 


XIX 
EDVARD  GRIEG 

The  ancestors  of  Edvard  Grieg,  on  his 
father's  side,  were  Scottish;  his  mother  came 
of  purely  Scandinavian  stock.  He  was  born 
June  15,  1843,  at  Bergen,  a  small  trading 
town  in  the  nothernmost  part  of  Norway, 
land  of  the  midnight  sun,  fir-hung  and  snow- 
capped mountains,  deep  blue  sea-fjords; 
land  of  ancient  sagas,  telling  the  deeds  of 
mighty  Norse  gods  and  heroic  forebears; 
land  of  songs  so  old  that  their  origin  is  lost 
in  the  dim  beginnings  of  its  fabled  story. 
From  generation  to  generation  these  songs 
were  transmitted,  songs  that  accompanied 
the  toil  or  pleasures  of  sturdy  inhabitants 
who  jealously  guarded  their  seclusion  and 
racial  traditions. 

Edvard  Grieg  fell  heir  not  only  to  this 
treasure  of  aboriginal  melody,  but  from  his 
mother  he  directly  inherited  musical  talents 

[255] 


256  Alia  Breve 


of  an  uncommon  order.  She  was  his  first 
music-teacher.  He  learned  to  play  the 
piano  when  he  was  six,  and  began  to  com- 
pose at  the  age  of  twelve.  In  his  fifteenth 
year  he  played  his  youthful  creations  for 
Ole  Bull,  the  picturesque  and  far-famed 
violinist,  who  was  visiting  the  Griegs,  and 
earnestly  advised  the  parents  to  let  the  boy 
become  a  musician.  Edvard  was  sent  to 
the  Leipzig  Conservatory  and  received  there 
a  thorough  musical  education.  He  studied 
piano,  theory,  counterpoint  and  composition, 
applying  himself  with  such  strenuous  zeal 
that  in  1860,  as  a  result  of  overwork,  he 
was  seriously  ill  with  lung  trouble,  and  the 
effects  of  the  malady  left  his  health  per- 
manently impaired.  After  a  sojourn  in  his 
native  country,  the  invigorating  air  of 
which  did  much  to  improve  his  condition, 
he  returned  to  Leipzig  and  continued  his 
studies  until  he  graduated  in  1862. 

So  far,  his  music  adhered  more  or  less  to 
the     Mendelssohnian     ideals     which     were 


Edvard  Grieg.  257 


preached   as   gospel  truth   at  Leipzig.     But 
after  he  went  to  Copenhagen,  in  1863,  where 
he   met   Gade,   Hartman,    and   young   Nor- 
draak,  the  influence  of  these  men — especially 
of    the    last    named — awakened   in   him   an 
appreciation  for  the  beauties  of  Scandinavian 
folk-tunes;  he  realized  their  possibilities  of 
artistic  development,  and  he  began  to  adopt 
the  peculiar  inflections  and  modulations  of 
this  national  music,  thereby  giving  his  work 
its  novel  and  distinguishing  mark.     He  be- 
came the   apostle  of  a   nationalistic   school 
engaged  in  systematic  propaganda,  and  suc- 
ceeded, by  the  force  of  his  genius,  in  gaining 
universal    recognition    and    admiration    for 
the  music  of  the  North.     His   example   has 
had  many  followers,  and  to-day  Scandinavia 
possesses  a  musical  literature  as  distinct  as 
the  works  of  her  poets   and  novelists,   and 
as  typical  as  that  of  Russia,  Spain  or  France. 
In   later   years,   Grieg   characterized   his 
purpose   and    achievement   in    these   words: 
"Those    who    can    appreciate    this    kind    of 


258 Alia  Breve 

music  will  be  delighted  at  the  extraordinary 
originality  of  these  tunes,  their  blending  of 
delicacy  and  grace  with  rough  power  and 
untamed  wildness  as  regards  the  melody 
and,  more  particularjy,  the  rhythm.  These 
traditional  tunes,  handed  down  from  an  age 
when  the  Norwegian  pea'santry  was  isolated 
from  the  world  in  its  solitary  mountain 
valleys,  all  bear  the  stamp  of  an  imagination 
equally  daring  and  bizarre.  My  object  in 
arranging  this  music  for  the  pianoforte  was 
to  attempt  to  raise  these  folk-tunes  to  an 
artistic  level  by  harmonizing  them  in  a  style 
suitable  to  their  nature."  However,  it 
must  not  be  understood  that  Grieg's  work  is 
chiefly  or  even  largely  based  on  existing 
material.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  his 
themes  are  free  and  original  inventions, 
which,  though  consciously  cast  in  the 
moulds  of  "traditional  tunes,"  are  vivified 
by  a  personal  element  which  is  wholly 
Grieg's. 


Edvard  Grieg  259 


After  a  short  stay  in  Rome,  during  the 
winter  of  1865,  Grieg  went  to  live  at  Christi- 
ania,  where  he  remained  for  eight  years, 
busied  with  composing,  teaching  and  con- 
ducting. He  married  his  cousin  Nina  Hage- 
rup  in  1867,  and  his  wife  became  known  as 
the  best  interpreter  for  her  husband's  songs, 
being  especially  liked  in  England,  which  the 
Griegs  visited  several  times.  The  composer 
received  valuable  encouragement  from 
Franz  Liszt,  who  treated  him  with  signal 
kindness  when  they  met,  in  1868,  at  Rome. 
In  1874  the  Swedish  crown  awarded  Grieg  a 
yearly  stipend  for  his  life.  His  native  Ber- 
gen now  became  his  favorite  abode.  Not 
far  from  the  town,  amid  the  wonders  of  the 
fjords,  he  lived  in  surroundings  that  were 
congenial  and  inspiring.  It  was  there  that 
most  of  his  masterworks  were  composed. 
His  intimacy  with  two  eminent  Scandi- 
navian writers,  Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  and 
Henrik  Ibsen,  influenced  him  in  setting 
many  poems  by  the  first  and  in  providing 


260  Alia  Breve 


the  latter's  Peer  Gynt  with  music  that  did 
much  to  carry  Grieg's  fame  abroad.  It  was 
at  Bergen,  too,  that  Grieg  died  on  Septem- 
ber 4,  1907,  succumbing  at  last  to  his  old 
malady. 

His  figure  was  short,  he  always  looked 
frail,  and  was  slightly  bent  from  asthma. 
Tschaikowsky,  who  greatly  admired  the 
Norwegian's  music,  painted  him  thus  in  his 
diary:  "He  had  an  unusual  charm,  and  blue 
eyes,  not  very  large,  but  irresistibly  fascinat- 
ing, recalling  the  glance  of  a  charming  and 
candid  child." 

Foremost  in  importance  and  scope 
among  Grieg's  compositions  are  his  songs 
and  his  piano  pieces,  especially  the  latter; 
and  here  again  the  shorter  and  more 
"lyrical"  ones  contain  the  finest  essence  of 
his  exquisite  and  personal  style.  With  a 
simplicity  and  economy  of  means  that  are 
the  secret  of  mastery,  he  develops  a  mood, 
tender  and  elegiac,  or  rollicking  and  droll, 
that  is  always  unmistakably  tinged  with  the 


Edvard  Grieg  261 


colors  of  Norwegian  folk-music.  His  violin 
sonatas,  his  piano  concertos  as  well  as  his 
orchestral  pieces,  all  bear  the  hall-mark  of 
his  individuality:  refined  craftsmanship, 
sensitive  perception,  and  ardent  love  for  his 
home-land. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  with  the  recog- 
nition, by  the  general  public,  of  Grieg's 
"nationalistic"  tendencies,  the  interest  in 
other  national  schools  of  music  was  greatly 
kindled.  Folk-songs,  the  root  of  all  racially 
distinctive  music,  are  traditional  tunes,  be- 
queathed from  age  to  age,  of  uncertain 
origin  in  most  cases,  often  dating  back  to 
the  vague  beginnings  of  race-conscious- 
ness. As  "comparative-etymology" — the 
analysis  and  comparison  of  word  roots  com- 
mon or  related  to  various  languages — has 
rendered  great  services  towards  obtaining 
a  clearer  insight  into  historical  regroupings 
of  tribes  and  peoples,  so  does  a  comparative 
study  of  folk-songs  add  a  great  deal  of  light 
to  the  understanding  of  human  civilisation. 


262 Alia  Breve 

Song  was  born  with  man.  It  accom- 
panied, ever  since  his  cultural  infancy,  the 
labor  of  single  or  concerted  effort,  making, 
by  rhythmic  regularity,  his  task  more  easy 
and  the  work  more  telling.  It  accompanied, 
ever  since  he  became  subject  to  emotional 
sway,  the  rites  of  his  worship,  the  pleasures 
of  the  dance;  in  short,  it  was  indispensable 
to  many  acts  of  private  and  communal  life. 

While  traces  of  folk-songs  may  be  en- 
countered, undisguised  as  well  as  "refined," 
in  the  art-music  of  the  middle  ages,  sacred 
and  secular,  the  development  of  definite 
nationalistic  styles  is  of  rather  recent  date. 
In  Mozart  and  Beethoven  an  occasional 
snatch  of  melody  betrays  kinship  to  some 
"popular"  air  of  their  day:  in  Haydn  we  may 
meet  with  a  suggestion  of  "Hungarian" 
music;  in  Corelli,  with  an  echo  from  Spain; 
but  it  is  not  until  the  early  part  and  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century  that  we  can  speak 
of  truly  Slavic,  Spanish,  or  any  other  national 
art-music.     Spain    has    but    few    authentic 


Edvard  Grieg  263 

representatives  who  have  achieved  universal 
success,  such  as  Albeniz  and  Granados;  but 
the  "Spanish  manner"  has  found  more 
imitators  than  any  other,  especially  among 
the  neighboring  French,  from  Bizet  and 
Chabrier  to  Debussy  and  Ravel.  The  Rhap- 
sodies of  Liszt  have  made  the  rhythms  and 
melodic  inflections  of  Hungary  the  common 
property  of  the  world.  Grieg,  aided  by 
Gade  and  Nordraak,  established  the  identity 
of  Scandinavian  music;  men  like  Sibelius 
and  Palmgren  have  added  the  Finnish  note 
to  these  voices  of  the  North.  Glinka,  Mous- 
sorgsky,  Balakiref— with  their  numerous 
followers — are  the  ancestors  of  a  line  that 
has  given  us  Scriabin  and  Stravinsky.  From 
Russia  may  come  a  regeneration  of  music. 
Poland's  spirit  lives  in  the  melodies  of  Chopin 
and  Moniuszko.  Bohemia  is  worthily  repre- 
sented by  Smetana  and  Dvorak.  The  latter, 
during  his  sojourn  in  America,  became  in- 
terested in  the  music  of  the  colored  race. 


264  Alia  Breve 

Exoticism  and  orientalism — mostly  of 
the  "pseudo"  kind — are  rampant  in  modern 
music.  They  seem  to  offer  a  legitimate 
excuse  for  the  grotesqueness,  the  certain 
barbarism,  by  which  to-morrow  is  trying 
to  abolish  the  neurotic  super-refinement  of 
yesterday.  There  is  "colored"  music  as 
there  is  "Hebrew"  music,  unmistakably 
charged  with  the  musical  idiosyncracies  of 
each  race.  But  neither  can  be  regarded 
as  the  soil  for  a  "national  music"  that  may 
give  rise  to  a  school  of  national  composers. 
Hence  the  clever  use  which  MacDowell  and 
other  musicians  have  made  of  negro  or 
Indian  themes  will  never  lead  to  an  American 
style.  That  is  already  shaping  from  different 
material,  and  promises  to  be  as  elastic,  and 
yet  uncompromising,  as  is  the  American 
character  itself.  The  coat  will  be  of  so 
many  colors,  that  the  total  effect  will  amount 
to  the  creation  of  a  new  shade.  And  that  is 
what  we  call,  in  music,  Progress. 


XX 

DEBUSSY 


Car  nous  voulons  la  Nuance  encor, 
Pas  la  Couleur,  rien  que  la  nuance! 
Oh!  la  nuance  seule  fiance 
Le  reve  au  reve  et  la  flute  au  cor ! 

— Paul  Ferlaine 


XX 

CLAUDE  DEBUSSY 

Of  the  musicians  considered  in  these 
chapters,  Claude  Debussy  is  closest  to  our 
day.  Little  more  than  three  years  have 
passed  since  he  died  in  Paris,  on  March  26, 
1918.  Hardly  is  the  echo  stilled  of  the 
vociferous  and  turbulent  receptions  given 
to  his  first  "revolutionary"  works;  barely 
has  his  music  been  recognized  as  perhaps  the 
most  radical  advance  of  the  art  since  Bach; 
and  already  groups  of  young  composers  are 
forming  who  proclaim  their  affranchisement 
from  the  "yoke  of  Debussyism,"  who  qualify 
the  master's  formulas  as  "antiquated,"  and 
are  exploring  wider,  freer  horizons  illumined 
by  a  new  dawn.  Thus  do  artists — if  not 
art — forever  crave  to  be  considered  modern. 
But  who  deserves  this  epithet  ?  \\  hat  is  the 
essential  requirement  in  modern  art?  Is  not 
Bach   more  modern  than  Haydn,   Schubert 

[267  1 


268 Alia  Breve 

more  modern  than  Mendelssohn,  Berlioz— 
in  spite  of  his  shortcomings — younger  and 
fresher  than  Brahms? 

Haydn,  Mendelssohn  and  Brahms  gave 
new  and  firmer  lines  to  the  form;  they  per- 
fected the  container  rather  than  the  contents. 
Nor  are  their  services  to  be  judged  lightly 
for  that  reason.  Bach's  mighty  genius,  on 
the  other  hand,  was  content  with  stereotype 
dance-suites,  the  "concerto"  inherited  from 
Corelli,  and  churchly  conventions  dating 
back  still  further.  Schubert's  fertile  im- 
agination was  lost  in  the  mould  of  the 
Beethovenian  symphony,  which  clung  to 
him  like  a  robe  too  big  for  his  stature;  Ber- 
lioz, exalted  like  a  god  and  platitudinous 
like  a  bourgeois,  created  forms  and  means 
cyclopean,  which  had  that  drawback  of  one- 
eyed  perspective — lack  of  depth.  And  yet 
these  were,  and  always  will  be,  moderns. 

It  is  not  mere  posteriority,  then,  that 
confers  this  jealously  sought  distinction  upon 
the  work  of  a   man;  it  is   rather  the  spirit 


Claude  Debussy  269 

which  pervades  the  work,  the  renovating 
force  and  degree  of  independence.  But  it 
is  difficult  to  say  just  in  what  musical  in- 
dependence, or  originality,  consists.  It  is 
easy  enough  to  point  to  this  or  that  chord, 
to  one  or  another  harmonic  departure,  en- 
countered for  the  first  time  in  a  certain 
composition.  That  is  as  far  as  we  may  go 
in  labelling  and  dating  new  ideas.  Such 
chord,  however,  or  such  harmonic  departure, 
will  be  found  latent,  perhaps,  in  the  works 
of  older  and  lesser  masters;  it  may  be  nothing 
but  the  flower  that  is  drawing  its  sap  from 
soil  tilled  by  more  or  less  distant  and  unre- 
membered  precursors.  Musical  history  is 
not  a  succession,  but  an  overlapping,  of  dif- 
ferent epochs. 

And  so,  while  we  stand  yet  bewildered 
with  the  burden  of  beauty  bequeathed  to 
us  by  Debussy,  his  achievement  already 
enters  the  sanctuary  of  Classicism,  that 
temple  which  has  withstood  the  onset  of  so 
many  "moderns"  throughout  all  ages,  and 


270 Alia  Breve 

which  perpetually  finds  itself  assailed  anew. 
Debussy  himself  would  not  have  had  it  other- 
wise: "Is  it  not  our  duty  to  find  the  sym- 
phonic formula  which  fits  our  time,  one 
which  progress,  daring  and  modern  victory 
demand?  The  century  of  aeroplanes  has  a 
right  to  its  own  music." 

If  ever  genius  gave  wings  to  music  and 
sent  it  soaring  up  to  heights  to  which — agile 
pedestrian — -it  could  not  have  risen  other- 
wise, it  was  the  liberating  influence  of  De- 
bussy. His  hypersensitive  ear  was  attuned 
to  overhear  the  shy  tremor  of  Springtide  in 
the  woods,  to  record  the  primeval  song  of 
the  wave,  to  note  the  chord-progressions  of 
the  sunset  mirrored  in  the  lake,  to  catch  the 
overtones  that  float  above  the  perfumes  of 
the  night.  His  aim  differed  from  that  of 
his  predecessors,  and  to  reach  it  he  had  to 
find  new  ways.  In  music,  new  ways  lie  gen- 
erally in  the  direction  of  unexplored  or 
unused  discords.  The  line  which  separates 
our  conceptions  of  concordant  and  discordant 


Claude  Debussy 271 

sounds  has  gradually  changed  position.  Tone 
is  the  sensuous  element  of  music,  and  in  order 
to  enlarge  its  scope,  we  must  convince  the 
hearer  that  tone-combinations  which  the  ear 
has  heretofore  rejected  as  harsh  and  un- 
satisfactory, can  be  made  to  sound  sensuously 
beautiful  and  satisfying.  That  the  applica- 
tion of  such  novel  stuff  should  condition  a 
new  technique  or  procedure,  is  wholly  in- 
cidental. 

We  are  too  near  the  marvelous  mani- 
festations of  Debussy's  personality  to  see 
clearly  the  point  to  which  his  powers  rose,  at 
which  they  may  have  halted,  or  from  which 
they  even  may  have  sunk.  It  is  for  a  later 
generation,  this  profitless  task  of  critical  de- 
termination. Meanwhile,  the  materials  for 
Debussy's  biography  are  less  abundant  than 
with  Wagner,  Weber  or  Mozart.  But  the 
significance  of  his  life  is  none  the  less  evident. 

Claude  [-Achille]  Debussy  was  born  Au- 
gust 22,  1862,  at  Saint-Germain-en-Laye,  the 
picturesque  old   residential  town  of  French 


272 Alia  Breve 

royalty,  only  a  few  miles  distant  from  Paris. 
All  his  biographers  emphasize  the  point  that 
in  childhood  his  musical  talents  were  far 
from  obvious,  that  he  did  not  receive  piano 
lessons  until  he  was  nine  years  old,  and  that 
even  then  his  father  still  destined  him  for  the 
navy. 

In  1873  he  entered  the  Paris  Conser- 
vatory, that  formidable  stronghold  of  tradi- 
tion. He  rapidly  advanced  in  the  piano 
classes  of  Marmontel,  winning  three  times 
the  hallowed  reward  of  academic  "medals." 
His  exploits  in  the  harmony  course  met,  on 
the  contrary,  with  equally  signal  and  re- 
peated failure.  These  studies  were  inter- 
rupted, in  1879,  by  a  journey  to  Russia  in 
the  capacity  of  "privy  pianist"  attached 
to  the  retinue  of  the  wife  of  a  rich  railroad 
engineer.  His  sojourn  in  St.  Petersburg  and 
Moscow  is  said  to  have  brought  him  in  con- 
tact with  the  works  of  the  young  Russian 
composers  and  especially  with  the  exotic  and 
uncharted  music  of  gypsy  bands,  whence  he 


Claude  Debussy  273 

may  have  derived  a  taste  for  barbaric  splen- 
dor, Oriental  languor  and  "lawless" 
harmonies.  He  resumed  his  studies  at  the 
Paris  Conservatory  in  1880,  winning  a  first 
prize  in  the  classe  d'accompagnement,  which 
consisted  in  improvising,  at  the  keyboard, 
a  harmonization  of  a  given  melody  or  bass. 
He  did  not  feel  drawn  to  attend  the  organ 
classes  of  Cesar  Franck.  His  teacher  in 
composition  was  Ernest  Guiraud  (1837- 
1892),  a  man  of  culture  and  musician  of 
taste.  He  perceived  the  "insurgent"  ten- 
dencies of  his  pupil,  and  gave  him  the 
benevolent  advice  to  keep  them  in  the  back- 
ground until  the  portals  of  the  Conservatory 
had  definitely  shut  behind  him.  This  event, 
eagerly  awaited,  occurred  in  1884,  when 
Debussy  won  the  Prix  de  Rome  with  his 
cantata  "L'enfant  prodigue."  The  pastoral 
tenderness  of  the  subject  well  suited  his 
nature,  and  though  the  music  caused  the 
shaking  of  many  a  gray  head,  it  had  to  be 


274  Alia  Breve 

counted  the  work  of  an  original  and  well- 
equipped  composer. 

From  Rome  Debussy  sent  the  obligatory 
envois  to  the  French  Institut,  and,  remember- 
ing Guiraud's  remark,  he  threw  restraint 
to  the  balmy  winds  that  blew  around  the 
Villa  Medicis.  The  result  was  his  first 
official  clash  with  smug  conventionality. 
His  orchestral  suite  "Printemps"  was  fiercely 
denounced  by  the  accredited  sages  of  the 
government,  and  when  they  refused  to  have 
it  performed,  the  composer,  in  turn,  with- 
drew his  next  envoi,  the  setting  of  Rossetti's 
"The  Blessed  Damozel"  in  a  French  trans- 
lation. It  amounted  to  a  declaration  of 
hostilities;  the  war  was  on,  not  to  be  ter- 
minated until  thirty  years  later.  The 
"Debussyistes"  began  to  form  a  phalanx 
of  enthusiastic  and  irrepressible  supporters 
whose  glory  consists  in  having  measured 
thus  early  the  greatness  of  their  idol. 

It  was  some  time  after  his  return  from 
Rome  that  Debussy  is  said  to  have  come 


Claude  Debussy  275 

across  the  authentic  score  of  Moussorgsky's 
opera  "Boris  Godounov"  and  to  have  been 
deeply  interested  in  the  musical  vocabulary 
and  syntax  of  this  extraordinary  Russian 
who,  at  that  time,  and  outside  of  Russia, 
was  unknown  to  all  but  a  few  musicians. 
In  1889  Debussy  visited  Bayreuth,  and  he 
knew  the  tense  atmosphere  of  the  Festspiel- 
hiigel  from  which  the  Master's  figure  had 
disappeared  only  six  years  before.  We  are 
told  that  the  "Ring"  and  "Tristan"  moved 
the  impressionable  youth  to  tears.  He  re- 
turned to  Bayreuth  the  next  summer,  but 
his  mind  was  already  set  in  a  trend  diametri- 
cally opposite  to  that  which  Wagner  had 
pursued. 

And  here  it  may  be  well  to  remember  that 
racial  differences  would  have  precluded  any- 
other  issue.  Debussy  was  essentially  Gallic, 
as  were  Couperin  and  Rameau,  his  nearest 
kin  among  French  composers.  Moreover, 
as  German  poetry  at  the  beginning  of  the 
nineteenth  century  had  precipitated  roman- 


276 Alia  Breve 

ticism  in  music,  so  did  the  French  poets  of  the 
impressionist  and  symbolist  school  imprint 
their  creeds  and  methods  upon  the  French 
musicians  of  the  declining  century.  It  was 
Verlaine,  distiller  of  volatile  and  aromatic 
phrases,  painter  in  iridescent  words,  whose 
poignant,  yet  so  elusive,  verses  inspired 
Debussy  to  write  the  first  songs  {Mandoline; 
Ariettes  oubliees,  1890;  Fetes  Galantes,  1st 
Ser.,  1892)  which  have  all  the  salient  qualities 
of  the  composer's  final  style,  a  style  un- 
precedented and  unmatched.  In  1892  was 
also  written  the  "Prelude  to  the  Afternoon 
of  a  Faun,"  based  on  Stephane  Mallarme's 
unique  poem.  As  the  poet  had  merely 
wished  to  give  verbal  suggestions  of  a  mood, 
a  passionate  attitude,  a  vague  concern, 
fleeting  and  unseizable,  so  did  the  composer 
mix  his  sonorous  half-tints  into  a  wondrously 
frail  [land  yet  suggestive  color-scheme.  It 
remains  among  all  of  Debussy's  orchestral 
pieces  the  most  perfect;  what  seemed  in  1894 
sheer  madness,  has  proved  to  be  sane  and 


Claude  Debussy 277 

sober  art,  devised  with  a  clear-sighted  crafts- 
manship and  revealing  now  the  inevitable 
consequentialness  of  the  composer's  cool 
and  deliberate  reasoning. 

In  the  summer  of  1892,  Debussy  chanced 
to  read  Maeterlinck's  drama  "Pelleas  et 
Melisande,"  and  was  instantly  taken  with 
the  desire  to  set  it  to  music.  He  obtained 
Maeterlinck's  authorization  and  went  to 
work,  beginning  with  the  duo  of  the  fourth 
act.  Ten  years  passed  before  all  the  music 
took  shape,  conceived  though  it  was  in  one 
moment  of  intense  creative  impregnation. 
Like  Wagner's  "Tristan  und  Isolde"  and 
Mozart's  "Magic  Flute,"  its  effectiveness  as 
an  opera  is  as  debatable  as  the  music  to 
these  three  plays  is  indisputably  among  the 
greatest  ever  written.  The  first  public  per- 
formance of  "Pelleas  et  Melisande"  took 
place  April  30,  1902,  at  the  Opera-Comique 
in  Paris. 

Meanwhile,  the  String  Quartet  had  been 
played  by  Eugene  Ysaye  and  his   associates 


278 Alia  Breve 

on  December  29,  1893,  at  the  "Societe 
Nationale,"  that  progressive  organization 
of  French  composers  which  brought  out  so 
many  of  Debussy's  works.  Between  1890 
and  1900  fall  furthermore  his  earlier  piano 
pieces  (none  of  them  ranking  with  his  most 
distinctive  compositions),  a  number  of  songs 
(among  them  his  finest),  and  the  ravishing 
"Nocturnes"  for  orchestra.  It  is  significant 
that  the  songs  of  this  epoch  are  the  more 
characteristic  and  riper  works;  evidently 
the  music  was  feeling  its  way  into  harmonic 
terra  ignota  with  a  guiding-staff  lent  by  the 
poetry  of  Verlaine,  Beaudelaire  and  Pierre 
Louys. 

After  1900  the  composer  became  more  and 
more  absorbed  in  the  discovery  of  new 
pianistic  possibilities.  Not  since  Chopin 
had  the  row  of  black  and  white  keys  been 
made  to  radiate  so  many  different  and 
dazzling  hues.  The  piano  became  a  new 
instrument.  Between  1900  and  1910  ap- 
peared,  among    other    things,    the    superb 


Claude  Debussy  279 

"Estampes,"  containing  "Soiree  dans  Gre- 
nade" and  "Jardins  sous  la  pluie,"  and  the 
"Images"  (second  series),  of  which  the 
limpid  "Reflets  dans  l'eau,"  the  polyphone 
"Cloches  a  travers  les  feuilles"  and  the 
shimmering  "Poissons  d'or"  are  the  best 
known.  His  most  important  piano  works, 
however,  were  published  after  1910,  and 
comprise  the  two  sets  of  preludes,  twenty- 
four  in  all,  among  which  there  are  some  that 
will  long  remain  the  most  beautiful  things 
that  man  has  fashioned  with  our  present, 
unpliant  enharmonic  scale.  They  also  con- 
tain the  first  signs  that  the  composer's 
manner  had  reached  the  point  of  degenerat- 
ing into  mannerism;  and  subsequent  works 
showed  Debussy  more  and  more  copying 
Debussy.  In  a  set  of  Etudes  he  seemed 
intent  upon  giving  labels  to  these  manner- 
isms himself,  upon  revealing  the  principal 
pianistic  devices  dear  to  his  fingers.  His 
touch  of  the  piano  was  indescribable.  To 
hear  him  play  his  own  music   (with  an  ill- 


280 Alia  Breve 

concealed  look  of  boredom  directed  at  the 
audience)   was   a  revelation. 

In  his  youth  Debussy  had  known  the 
cares  of  a  struggling  genius.  For  a  time  the 
publisher  Georges  Hartman  supported  the 
poor  student;  later  it  was  Jacques  Durand 
who  paid  lavishly  for  the  privilege  of  pub- 
lishing the  master's  music.  Debussy  married 
twice.  He  conducted  his  own  works  in 
England  and  Russia,  visiting  St.  Petersburg 
and  Moscow,  for  the  last  time,  in  the  winter 
before  the  outbreak  of  the  world  war. 
Towards  the  end  of  his  life  he  suffered  long 
and  patiently  from  malignant  diseases  which 
caused  his  death. 

Debussy  was  an  astute  critic  of  the  work 
of  others  as  well  as  his  own.  He  wrote 
extensively  for  various  daily  papers  and 
periodicals.  The  collection  of  his  critical 
writings  will  some  day  form  one  of  the  most 
interesting  and  valuable  works  on  musical 
aesthetics.  He  seems  to  have  shown  the  way 
to  his  successors,  when  he  wrote  in  November, 


Claude  Debussy  281 

1913:  "Let  us  purify  our  music.  Let  us 
try  to  scarify  it.  Let  us  seek  to  obtain  a 
music  which  is  barer  {plus  nue).  We  must 
guard  against  the  stifling  of  emotion  under 
the  heap  of  motives  and  superimposed  de- 
signs: how  can  we  render  its  bloom  or  its 
force  while  we  remain  preoccupied  with  all 
those  details  of  writing,  while  we  try  to 
maintain  an  impossible  discipline  among  the 
swarming  pack  of  little  themes  which  topple 
over  and  jump  on  each  other  to  bite  poor 
sentiment  in  the  legs  and  send  it  off  seeking 
salvation  in  flight!  As  a  general  rule,  each 
time  that,  in  art,  someone  thinks  of  com- 
plicating a  form  or  a  sentiment,  it  means 
that  he  does  not  know  what  he  wants  to 
say." 


CONCLUSION 

In  these  pages,  no  attempt  has  been  made 
to  analyze,  technically,  any  of  the  works 
mentioned.  The  musical  student  cannot  do 
without  such  analysis;  to  the  listener,  in 
general,  it  is  profitless.  While  the  painter 
should  know  each  nerve  and  sinew  in  the 
body,  he  bids  you  behold  in  his  picture 
only  an  attitude  of  the  human  form,  destined 
to  make  you  share  his  vision  of  its  inherent 
beauty.  Musical  appreciation  is  not  gained 
by  the  process  of  dissection,  any  more  than 
is  a  realization  of  the  warmth  in  Rubens' 
flesh-tints  by  visits  to  the  morgue.  Music — 
all  pulse  and  vibration — is  the  most  "living" 
of  the  arts.  Its  sensuous  appeal  to  our  or- 
ganism is  more  direct  than  that  of  any  other 
art;  it  is  also  more  specific.  Its  rational 
plan  and  contents  require  mental  grasp. 
Thus  fullest  receptivity,  keenest  enjoyment, 
belong    to    him  who    comes   to   music   with 

[283  1 


284 Alia  Breve 

a  natural  predisposition,  a  special   state  of 
mind,  and  more  or  less  training. 

To  listen  attentively  to  certain  kinds  of 
music  is  often  very  difficult.  Music's  finest 
power  being  that  of  firing  our  fancy,  we 
sometimes  lose  consciousness  of  a  composi- 
tion's actual  progress,  and  abandon  ourselves 
to  the  flight  of  our  thoughts.  Nor  will  each 
hearer  take  away  the  same  impressions,  for 
the  attention  may  fasten  upon,  and  become 
absorbed  by,  different  qualities  or  charac- 
teristics of  the  music.  Discrimination  in  art 
is  a  privilege  of  gust  and  culture,  more  fre- 
quently innate  than  acquired.  But  one  may 
at  least  learn  to  distinguish  between  various 
types  and  styles  of  music,  and  recognize  the 
intentions  of  each.  Incomprehension  should 
not  lead  to  condemnation.  Personal  "taste" 
is  not  a  brevet  to  the  rank  of  critic.  Yet, 
the  best  musical  criticism  is  colored  by  indi- 
vidual prejudices. 

Music,  in   order   to   satisfy  the   highest 
demands,  must  be  well  made,  sincere  and  in- 


Conclusion  285 

spired.  Much  music  wishes  merely  to  enter- 
tain; nor  is  it  for  that  reason  less  important 
or  legitimate.  The  rarified  air  on  mountain 
peaks  is  not  the  normal  atmosphere  for  all 
mankind.  A  little  garden  patch  in  the  valley, 
sweet  with  the  healthy  smell  of  rosemary 
and  phlox,  is  good  to  breathe  in.  But  a 
room,  rank  with  the  scent  of  wilting  helio- 
trope and  violets,  is  obnoxious.  And  yet,  so 
many  people  are  content  with  music  that  is 
as  fetid  weeds.  Simplicity,  frank  uncon- 
cern in  music,  is  a  virtue;  commonplaceness, 
pretentious  show,  an  abomination. 

Music  is  bountiful,  it  is  of  all  times  and 
places:  it  brings  us  the  pleasurable  pains  of 
utter  spiritual  transport;  it  caters  to  the 
painful  pleasures  of  vulgar  frenzy.  Strike  a 
little  above  midway  between  these  two  ex- 
tremes, and  you  enter — not  a  temple  nor  a 
bagnio — but  a  palace,  spacious  with  varied 
chambers.  Large  and  small,  lit  brightly  or 
mysteriously  darkened,  they  offer  shelter 
according  to  your  moods  and  needs.     Street 


286  Alia  Breve 

and  number  may  indicate  your  station  in 
the  lists  of  the  community;  the  address  of 
your  soul  is  that  apartment,  in  the  house 
of  music,  which  you  occupy. 


14  DAY  USE 

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